


All the Better Part of Me (Take or Leave the Rest)

by TiaLewise



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adopted Children, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Parents, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anathema Device Ships Aziraphale/Crowley, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale's Name is Ezra (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Bottoming from the Top, Christmas, Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Condoms, Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Demisexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Family Fluff, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hanukkah, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Aziraphale (Good Omens), Language of Flowers, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Parents Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, holiday fluff, they're switches bitches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22360060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaLewise/pseuds/TiaLewise
Summary: AJ Crowley goes too fast for himself, let alone the angel at the gates. He has a job he never wanted, a child to take care of, and far too much wine to stay home and drink alone, but his new friend might be willing to speed up for him...just a little. As Crowley's world unravels, entangling with that of his beloved Ezra, he must learn to let others in, to stop fighting his past alone, and to let himself be loved the way he deserves.Their journey is as much done together as it is a battle within themselves.Title inspired by William Shakespeare's"Sonnet 39."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device, Warlock Dowling & Adam Young
Comments: 207
Kudos: 227
Collections: Good Omens AUs, Good Omens Human AUs, Ineffable AUs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we go. I've been working on this for ages, and it's _still_ not finished, but my snippets on Tumblr were getting a good reception and I hate to leave my readers without something to show I'm still alive and working on what they love. So here we go - pining and parenting from the view of one AJ Crowley. 
> 
> Chapter count is undetermined so far and please keep an eye on the summaries for any additional trigger warnings, but I will be tagging appropriately as well - if I miss anything please tell me, the last thing I want is to inadvertently upset someone. 
> 
> Let me know what you think so far, either in the comments or on Tumblr, where you can find me @tia-lewise.

London, 2018. Always busy, always on the move - though the same can’t be said for Brexit - the summer holidays a pale memory, forgotten to the congested roads and cluttered walkways of its ever-moving citizenry. Autumn began not long ago, and with it, a return to rush hour. 

Close in your sights a little. Look to Westminster, past St James’ Park. Further still, to the Mayfair-Soho boundary, not far off Oxford Street.

A car, driving at 90mph in Central London. Well, isn’t that a sight?

Alright, perhaps not 90mph, but the point stands.

Brightfield Primary Academy stands, too, and has done since 1891. Over the years it has seen pupils of nobility and common folk alike, the children of princes and paupers, taken in and loved all the same. Through six monarchs and two world wars, its  _ raison d’etre _ remained ever steadfast and proud, and its school day begins, as it has since term began, with a sleek, black Bentley swerving carelessly onto double yellow lines next to the school, and its owner slumping over the steering wheel with a wide yawn.

“It’s too bloody early for this.”

His backseat passenger, all messy brown curls and scheming grin, unclipped his seatbelt with pudgy fingers and hopped out of the car, whooping in triumph. Not for the first time, the driver wondered if he needed to get child locks fitted to the doors, and then groaned at the thought. Bringing his vintage baby up to modern standards always cost an absolute bomb. 

“Uncle AJ! C’mon!”

“Comin’...” He yawned again, reached for his travel mug of coffee and yanked the key from the ignition before tumbling onto the pavement in a sprawl of ungainly limbs. 

AJ Crowley was well-known in London’s general circles, if not by name, then certainly by face. He had long auburn hair, and good cheekbones, and a penchant for snakeskin shoes and Valentino sunglasses. Women's magazines loved to discuss his freckles (which he hated), the tightness of his jeans (very), and the way his hips swayed with every step he took (if Elvis were alive, Crowley could give the King a run for his money). In short, he was far from a nobody. He was one of those flash bastards that critics called "famous for being famous, a trust fund baby fed with a silver spoon," but it wasn’t a spotlight he'd ever stood in willingly. If he had it his way, he'd stay at home with his plants and a bottle of wine, maybe adopt a cat or two. Suitably evil animals, cats. Good for keeping up his reputation, surely, and, in his old age, more fun than parties. 

All that being said, every weekday morning, Crowley would brave the press and the batting eyelashes to rock up at the school gates, ushering his relatively new charge through the main entrance, right on time and with no security or bodyguards to speak of, just a flat white in one hand and the bleary look of someone who didn’t much approve of early wake-ups. 

"Right. You got everything, yeah?"

"Yes…? Um…" 

Adam, Mr Messy Curls himself, was Crowley’s nephew, five years old and with all the worldly curiosity of a gambolling puppy. He loved to play games, yet liked his own space, and he never stopped asking questions, always needed an answer to his answer. Crowley often saw a lot of his younger self in Adam. Perhaps too much. Definitely why they got on so well. 

The boy looked at his rucksack, hanging on its peg, his jacket behind it. Down to his feet, looking at his shoes, and they  _ seemed  _ to be on the right feet, so that was a good start. He nodded in triumph. "Got everything!"

"Great. Okay. I'll be off, then -" 

A brush of fingers against Crowley’s arm had him glancing up over the top of his coffee. Twinkling hazel eyes met his, and he couldn’t help but smile. 

"Oh, hey, you."

"Good morning, dear fellow!" Mr Fell - Crowley didn’t know his first name - had been bustling up and saying hello since the first day of term, when he took a bemused and nervous Crowley under his wing to guide him through the nerve-wracking process of surrendering your small human to the authorities. He was  _ nice,  _ a weird but genuine kindness shining from him; one simply  _ had  _ to be a little happier around him. Even Crowley, who was of the opinion that any wake up before midday was a crime, enjoyed his bright smile at the gates. 

A boy with floppy, black hair clung to Mr Fell's hand. Adam hopped over to him and poked him in the shoulder with a murmured, "Hiya, Warlock."

"Adam!" Warlock beamed. “Mrs Hill gotted the dinosaurs out! I saw them!”

"Can we play with them?"

Warlock suddenly looked outright scandalised. "But, but - we gotta have  _ register  _ first!" 

“Mrs Hill knows we’re here. She saw us,” Adam pointed out. “We don’t need a register to play with the dinosaurs.”

“Adam!” Crowley hissed, but Mr Fell just laughed lightly at their banter as he knelt to plant a kiss on Warlock's forehead. 

"Why don't you and Adam go sit on the carpet together, darling? Playtime will come before you know it."

"Okay! Bye, dad!" Warlock dropped Mr Fell's hand, grabbed Adam's, and off they ran, screeching happily about dimetrodons.

Crowley scratched his head as they watched the boys go. "He's settled in well."

"He's a lovely boy. You must be proud.” His voice could plump up cushions and wrap a warm blanket around your shoulders; absolutely every word from his lips was soft and gentle.

"Mm." Crowley drained his coffee. "Still feels weird, though. Letting him go every morning."

"You'll get used to it, I’m sure," smiled Mr Fell, just as the bell for the start of school rang. "Ah. Shall we?"

"Yeah." He was getting glances again; he hated the eyes on him all the time, even here, where he was just the same as the lot of them. It was London, for crying out loud, who  _ hadn’t  _ seen someone mildly famous in London? Crowley tightened his jaw as he slipped through the throng of parents, Mr Fell in tow. They descended the steps and headed for the gates, walking side by side.

Crowley stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and cast a look at Mr Fell, who was humming to himself cheerily, eyes fixed on the birds circling above their heads. "Off to work as usual, then?" he ventured.

"Hm? Oh, yes. No rest for the wicked, as they say. And you, my dear?"

“I have to dig out my suit and put on a smile this evening.” Crowley quirked a lip. “The suit too, I guess.”

Mr Fell mock-gasped. “The horror!”

“I know, right?”

“That bad?”

"You don't know the half of it." 

Mr Fell made a sympathetic noise. "No rest for the wicked, indeed."

"Wickedest of the lot is what my old mother would say,” Crowley replied, grinning and lifting a brow. He really couldn’t stay morose around a shining star like Mr Fell. "Tempt you to a lift?" he asked as he unlocked the Bentley. 

To his credit - and probably testament to his intelligence - Mr Fell laughed and shook his head. "I’ve seen how you speed off, you demon! I like the walk, rather, but thank you all the same.”

Crowley shrugged, still grinning. He slipped into the driver's seat, dropped his now empty travel mug into the side of the door, and rolled the window down to lean out of it, fingers flicking in vague farewell. “Catch you later then.”

“Mind how you go, dear.”

As he drove away, Crowley made a note, somewhere in the clustered shelves of his mind, to ask the man's first name at pick-up. He knew he'd forget to, but could you blame an old fool for trying?

For now, though, his bed called.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning in this chapter for brief mentions of flashbacks and over-reliance on allergy meds.

He never did get around to asking for Mr Fell’s name. With his anxiety sky-high and brain firing signals in useless circles, he could do little more at pick-up than give a quick wave and scuttle off with Adam in tow, crossing his fingers not to break down in front of every parent and their damned salad.

Once home, he could let go, just a bit. 

"Shit shit shit shit  _ shit,  _ why me?!" 

Crowley’s hands shook as he ripped off his tie for the millionth time. He left it hanging skew-whiff round his neck while he reached for the wine glass on the vanity, draining it in two gulps and refilling it from the nearby bottle. In the background, Adam was shouting, presumably throwing a fit at having to stay behind. Not Crowley’s problem. Nannies were fantastic things, specially when your nanny was also your best mate.

The door to his room swung open. He snapped his head around, snarling  _ "What?!"  _ with as much drunken venom as he could muster, but Ana just regarded him coolly from behind her huge, round glasses. She never looked the least bit ruffled around his tempers, always calm, always mature, always dressed like she was due at a medieval reenactment event in need of a spare witch. Crowley was fifteen years Ana’s senior, but it was her that had her head screwed on properly, whilst his spun around like an errant top.

In her arms she held a struggling, red-faced Adam. "Your limo's here."

"'S'not  _ my  _ limo." He turned back to the mirror, fingers tangled up once more in his tie. "Tell ‘em I'll be down in a minute." 

"I told them ten minutes, so that - Adam, _please_ can we stop with the temper tantrum?"

"It's not fair, I wanna go, too!" Adam shouted. 

"You know your uncle will be out late, and _ you, _ young man, need your sleep, otherwise how will you ever be big and strong enough to rule the world?" Adam paused at that, and he looked up at Ana with wide eyes. "Tell you what," she carried on, "if we have no more shouting, and you tidy up your toys, I'll read you those stories about the Kraken at bedtime. How does that sound?"

"Awesome!" Adam laughed and shot off back towards the lounge. 

Crowley exhaled a deep breath. "You're a lifesaver, Ana."

"I'm not paid nearly enough for putting up with your crap is what I am." Ana stepped over the various discarded tuxedos and shoes littering the bedroom floor, slapping Crowley's hands away from his throat as she approached. She took hold of the tie and began knotting it herself. "You know, I think Adam just needs a hug sometimes. Kids crave that close affection...there's a distance between you and him sometimes, and don't think I'm pointing fingers at you, but-"

"I know," he muttered, guilty. Her dark eyes bore into his, bare as they were without his sunglasses; he looked away on instinct. "It's been..."

"I know," she echoed. "He’s not stupid, he knows this night is about his dad. I’d be pissed off, too, if I were Adam. There, how's that?" She smoothed her fingers down the finished tie and tucked it into place.

Crowley glanced in the mirror, nodded. "Thanks."

"Are you okay?" Ana knelt to pick up the stray clothes from the carpet, folding them before setting them on the bed. Not part of her job, but welcomed nonetheless.

"I'm fine. 100%. Fucking smashing. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you hate practically everyone in your family and turn into a seething mess every time you have to attend an event with them?"

"Ah yeah, that does sound like me, doesn't it." Crowley pulled back his hair into a half-updo and twisted a few strands to hang in front of his ears. A few flyaways stuck out around the crown, which he tamed down with a dab of pomade and a spritz of hairspray.

"And your brother, well. You never got on."

"Can't imagine why," muttered Crowley. He closed his eyes, spots of red dancing before them, and shuddered.

"Anthony." Ana picked up the sunglasses lying on the bedside table, handed them to him, and nodded as he slipped them into place. "You don't  _ have  _ to be at their beck and call every time they snap their fingers."

He just shrugged. "'S'all I know how to do." Outside, the limo honked its horn. "Ahh, for fucks' sake. Right, I'm off. You know the drill, I'll call you when I'm on my way back."

Ana bobbed her head. "See you tonight."

Crowley had just enough time for a quick fist bump with Adam, before clattering off, drunk as he was, down the stairs of the apartment complex. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped the limo would drive off without him, but they never did, and this was no exception.

In hindsight, the night didn't go  _ too  _ badly - though for Crowley it had been an utter nightmare. Really, who wanted to walk into the Rembrandt and be greeted by a blow-up of your most hated sibling's face? Especially with that smug, worldly smile of his on blaring full display? He had to fight the urge to punch it on his way past. As soon as he'd said his greetings to the appropriate people he'd made straight for the bar and swallowed down enough wine to kill a man, hoping the rest of the family would forget he was there. 

Sadly, it wasn't to be. Mother dearest wasn't content with her youngest just standing around looking pretty and flirting with the odd reporter in between hors d'oeuvres; no, she wanted him to give a  _ speech _ , in front of the glitz and glamour and the press representatives that worshipped the fucking ground Lucifer had walked on. That was just fucking great - way to spring that on the drunk and despondent mess that was AJ Crowley.

_ "It's been a year since my brother died. He was a - was a good man. Loved people. Gave more than he had, always. To the very end. Things - things really aren't the same without him around. He'd have been grateful - to all of you for being here."  _ And then Crowley had had to hand the microphone to his sister Dana and run off to throw up. It was the oysters that did him in, he later claimed, when Dana thankfully took pity on him, called him a cab, and snuck him out through a side door. Wasn't too much of a lie, anyway. Seafood never sat well in his stomach - or sat at all.

He spent the rest of the night shivering in bed, sick to his stomach and blinded by blood every time he closed his eyes. Sleep came in fits and bursts of gunshots-screams-silence until Ana offered to take Adam to school, at which point he finally dropped off and slept through till early afternoon.  Energy slightly renewed, but stiff and sore, Crowley dragged himself out of bed and to the kitchen, where he found Ana sitting on the counter, scrolling through her phone. She glanced up at him and smiled. The gesture went unreturned.

"Hi, sleepyhead. You're looking better."

"Am I fuck," muttered Crowley, slumping down onto the island and laying his forehead against the cool marble. Sweet  _ Jesus, _ that felt like Heaven.

"I’m sure you had some Tylenol in here somewhere…” Ana was rummaging in the medicine cabinet. “Oh hey, I met your Ezra this morning."

Crowley lifted his head a fraction. "Who the fuck is Ezra?"

"Uh, Mr Fell? Warlock's dad?" 

Oh, shit, yeah, he was supposed to ask his name yesterday. Minus five points from Hufflepuff for being a twat; snake tattoos be damned, he wasn’t ambitious enough to be a Slytherin, Pottermore told him as much. Badgers were alright, anyway. Nice faces.

Ana was still talking. “-Is he Jewish? Ezra’s a Hebrew name. I could see him wearing one of those little skullcaps, couldn’t you?”

“They’re called kippot,” Crowley sighed into the marble.

“Oh, of course. Sorry.”

“‘S’fine.”

_ Ezra.  _ Somehow it wasn’t what he expected, but at the same time, it suited him. A little posh-sounding. Then again, the man wore a waistcoat and a fucking bow tie every day.  _ Ezra.  _ He wanted to keep saying it, rolling it around his mouth like a fine chocolate truffle, wondered how it might sound gasped out in pleasure-

A light smack to the side of his head and a thud on the table alerted him to the box of paracetamol Ana had just chucked at him. “Go back to bed for a while,” she ordered, “you’re sweating all over the place.” 

“Don’t wanna,” Crowley mumbled; he swallowed two tablets nonetheless. 

“Who are you, and what have you done with Anthony Jo-”

“D'you wanna keep your job, Anathema?” She bristled visibly at the use of her full name. “Look, I’ll be alright. You head off, I’ll get Adam later.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, now go bother Newt, go play in traffic, whatever.”

“Alright, I get the picture.” Ana hopped off and began searching for her coat. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I always do everything you wouldn’t do.”

“And that is why I work for you.”

“Sod off, Ana.” Crowley threw the paracetamol at her retreating back with a groan, and let his head thunk to the table before falling asleep right there in a fevered, hungover haze.

By some divine miracle, he woke up with twenty minutes to go before pick-up, a running-nosed mess of birdnest hair and stiff limbs. Scowling at his bedraggled reflection, he wrapped a scarf around his face, jammed on his sunglasses, and staggered into the Bentley, making it to school two minutes after the bell.

He could see the headlines now.  _ “Superstar AJ Crowley late to pick up his nephew!” “Has London’s bad boy slipped back into his partying ways?”  _ He sneered at that as he unclipped his seatbelt. Who the fuck ever chose to be famous? Mrs Hill was going to chew him out royally for being-

A flash of tartan in the wing mirror had him snapping his gaze to the side. 

Oh. Well.

That’s a thing.

Ezra, walking down the school steps, hand-in-hand with both Warlock and Adam, the boys chatting animatedly and the man looking between them with a dimpled smile on his face. He looked up, saw the car, and his smile widened further. Heat flushed Crowley’s cheeks that he was sure had nothing to do with his fever. He exited the Bentley and leaned against it in as casual a stance as he could manage on legs that felt like noodles.

“Uncle AJ, you're late,” Adam chided.

“I know, I know. Sorry ‘bout that.” He took Adam’s hand from Ezra with a bleary nod. “Cheers, Ezra.”

“You’re welcome, Anthony.”

He couldn’t help but smile, hearing his name from Ezra’s mouth. How would  _ that  _ sound gasped out in pleasure? “You, er…you met Ana, then?”

“I did. Lovely girl. Very  _ vintage,  _ isn’t she?”

“Could say that.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his nose underneath the scarf.

Ezra frowned. “Are you still feeling unwell? Miss Device did mention. You look a bit peaky.”

“Nothing a bit of kip won’t fix,” Crowley insisted. “Right. I’d best get this one home. See you tomorrow?”

Ezra chuckled. “Tomorrow is Saturday, dear fellow.”

“Oh, yeah. Course. Idiot, that’s me.” Minus another five points from Hufflepuff. He bundled a perplexed-looking Adam into the car and jumped in after him. “Cheerio, then,” he called through the open window, speeding off before he could make himself look any more of a prat.

“Can I play Minecraft?” asked Adam from the back seat.

“Kid, you can do anything you want, so long as I can pass out on the couch the whole time.”

“I’m gonna build a fort.”

“And I’ll laugh when the creepers come blow it up.”

“That’s mean.”

“That’s life, Adam. Life is mean.”

Adam was a good kid. Quiet, for the most part, and always found something to occupy himself with, but prone to meltdown if he didn’t understand why something wasn’t happening the way he expected it to. Thankfully, he’d mastered Minecraft, and Crowley heard barely a peep out of him, bar the occasional distracted growl, as he languished on the sofa, floating in and out of a peaceful, Benadryl-induced drowsiness. The consoles were all in the lounge, the better to keep an eye on Adam’s playtime, and Crowley was partial to a bit of Portal from time to time, when he had a head for it.

It wasn’t until Adam started talking, rather non-stop, that Crowley cracked open one reluctant eye and slurred out, “huh?” Oh, Adam had his headset on. Did he play Minecraft with people online? Thought that was just a LittleBigPlanet thing. Fair enough, so long as nothing untoward was being said.

“-saw a cow on the hill, yeah - mmhm - what did you say? Oh. I can ask. Okay - skeleton!” 

“Who’s online?” Crowley rubbed his eyes and forced himself to sit up. He glanced at the clock. Six thirty. Jeez, he’d really dozed the afternoon away.

“Warlock,” Adam said, mashing buttons on his controller. “His dad wrote it down for me.”

“Wrote what?” Crowley reached down to the floor for the bottle of Benadryl.

“Warlock’s PlayStation name. I added him - Warlock! Creeper! Oh, he’s dead. Hold on a minute.” He dropped his headset to his neck and twisted round, curls lying flat on his head. “Hey, uncle AJ?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we get pizza for tea?”

“Yeah. Sure thing.”

“And can Warlock come to play tomorrow?”

“Ngk.” Crowley nearly spat out his mouthful of medicine. He clapped a hand over his lips and forced himself to swallow.

Ana was off duty this weekend, and she usually took over any playdates Adam had in his schedule. Other parents freaked Crowley out, and he’d certainly never had other children in his flat before - but this was Warlock, and Ezra, and Ezra never made him feel uncomfortable. Worth a go, perhaps?

After a moment he made a noncommittal noise. “Gimme the headset, will ya?” Adam handed it over, and Crowley eyed it for a moment before speaking hesitantly into it. “Warlock?”

A brief burst of shuffling movement tickled his ear. Then,  _ “H-Hello?” _

“Heya, kiddo. ’S Adam’s uncle. Is your dad around?”

_ “He’s in the living room.” _

“Can I talk to him?”

_ “Um, okay.” _ There was a short clatter of Warlock putting his headset down, and Crowley heard him shout for Ezra to come. Then a gentle laugh made itself known.

_ “This is most unorthodox, speaking in such a manner...ah, hello, my dear. Warlock says you wanted a word with me?” _

Crowley’s throat went dry. Probably the medicine, he figured. “Um. Yeah. Hi. Listen, um, Adam was wondering if Warlock wants to come over to, uh…play? Tomorrow?”

Ezra paused a moment.  _ “Oh, really?” _

“Yeah.”

_ “Well, Warlock is nodding rather enthusiastically next to me, so I believe he’s on board. It does sound a lovely idea. But is it alright with you?” _

“Why wouldn’t it?”

_ “You  _ are  _ rather a celebrity, Anthony. I don’t imagine you go around giving every parent your address.” _

Crowley rolled his eyes. “’S not like I live in a mansion or anything. No, seriously, ’s just a flat in Mayfair. So?”

_ “I’m not working tomorrow, so it fits in just fine with me.” _

“Great. Uh, yeah, great. I’ll - I’ll text you the address. Wait, do you have a mobile?”

Ezra huffed down the headset. _ “I’m not a  _ complete _ dinosaur, Anthony.” _ He rattled off a series of numbers, which Crowley scribbled down on his forearm.  _ “I daresay that will be easier communication than this ghastly thing,”  _ he said once Crowley was done.

“I dunno, I kinda like it,” grinned Crowley. “Right. See you tomorrow, Ezra.”

_ “I look forward to it, dear fellow. Be handing this back to Warlock, now - see you tomorrow!” _

Crowley passed Adam’s headset back, grin still on his face. He pulled out his phone, looked at the numbers on his arm, and began writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have their first playdate, and the dads get to know each other a bit better.

Crowley was elbow-deep in mulch, humming along to the soulful warble of Freddie Mercury over his speakers as he repotted a snake plant. It was thriving and beautiful, just needed a bit more space. Once securely in its new home he gave the twisting leaves a fond stroke, leaned in close, close enough to inhale its faint scent, and whispered, 

“After everything I’ve given you, if I see even a  _ hint  _ of rotting, you’ll be out on your root-tangled arse before you can say ‘rhizome.’” 

He straightened up, petted the leaves again, and set the plant down in its usual spot.

He liked plants, did Crowley. With so little of his own existence under his control, having a room full of verdant life bridged that gap somewhat. Plants didn’t shout, or order you about, or roll their eyes at you. Crowley did plenty of that, though, as he stalked around the room, mister in one hand and free fingers inspecting leaves and buds intently. He’d read something a few years ago about the benefits of talking to plants, and he did plenty of that, too - or, to be more accurate, he put the fear of God into them, if plants could fear an omniscient deity who may or may not exist. If there were anything up there in the clouds, they’d definitely given Crowley the slip many years ago. Little wonder, he sometimes figured, that he used this room as an outlet for his moments of violent turbulence.

"Uncle AJ!" Adam yelled from somewhere within the flat. 

“What?” he yelled back. 

No response; he sighed and turned the music down, wiping his hands on his ripped and dirt-splattered jeans as he went to check what Adam needed. Kid had probably dropped another cup of juice, where was Ana when you needed her? Ah, fuck, still her weekend off...

"Hello, dear fellow!"

Crowley blinked once, twice, suddenly very aware of his bedraggled appearance. His cheeks drained cold. 

Fuck. It was Saturday. Saturday! When did it become Saturday?

Adam stood in the entryway, and next to him was Ezra, proud as you please, all buttoned up prim and proper in his tailored suit and bow tie, looking so bright that -

Bright - bright - glasses!

"Shit - um, just a sec-" Real smooth, Crowley, you fucking dick. What an absolute twat you are.

He ran back to the plant room, grabbed his sunglasses from the windowsill, and shoved them on, wincing at the sight of all the dirt under his fingernails. Still, darker now, much more comfortable...he returned, scratching his head. Great, dirt in his hair now, too. "Sorry,” he muttered, “knew you were coming, just lost track of time - should I change? I should probably change. Um-"

Ezra shook his head, laughing. "This is  _ your _ home, my dear, you needn't dress up just so the boys can have a playdate."

Warlock waved from beside Ezra. "Hi, Mr Crowley."

"Hey, kiddo. Find the place alright?"

"Yeah."

"Great, good stuff. Adam, why don't you take Warlock to your room, show him your toys and such?"

"Alright." Adam took Warlock's hand and they ambled off into the flat. 

"Take your shoes off, Warlock!" Ezra called after them.

Crowley shook his head. "S'alright, I'm not fussy about that sort of stuff. Here, just...chuck your coat anywhere, I'll wash my hands and get us a drink."

Ezra frowned. "Am I staying?"

"Ngk - er - I mean, if you want?" Crowley flexed his fingers, scowled, shoved them into his pockets. "Or I can drop Warlock off later. S'up to you."

"I don't want to intrude-"

"You're not. Honestly."  _ Please stay, let me bask in your ethereal presence. _

"In that case, yes, I shall stay." Ezra began unbuttoning his tan overcoat.

Crowley grinned. "That's my man. Alright, follow me."

In the kitchen Crowley wobbled over to the sink to rinse the dirt from his hands while Ezra seated himself at the island in the centre of the room. "Your home is lovely," he remarked. "Have you lived here long?"

"Couple of years." Crowley glanced over his shoulder, confirmed Ezra was busy inspecting the countertop, and grabbed a toothpick to dig out the mulch from under his nails. 

"Where were you before?"

"Manchester." Crowley chucked the toothpick aside, rinsed his hands again. Better, much better.

"Oh, of course." Ezra sounded thoughtful. "I remember now. You taught astrophysics up there, didn't you? University of Manchester?"

Crowley paused with his hand halfway to the kettle. "Ezra," he said in a low voice, "have you been reading my fucking Wikipedia page?" 

"Um."

Ezra pressed his lips together as his face bloomed a scarlet that had Crowley burst out laughing.

"I'm just messing with you, mate. Human instinct, isn't it, to hunger for knowledge, want answers. Can't say I blame you for looking. I'd have done the same, if it were my kid going to some fancy schmuck's house. Oh, er - tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please." Ezra looked to have relaxed, if still rather pink-cheeked.

"Sugar?"

"Just milk will be fine."

"Gotcha." Crowley brought two cups over, setting one in front of Ezra. "So…" He sat on a vacant stool, drawing up one long leg to rest his heel on the edge. "While we're on the subject of uni, you're a librarian, right? Where at?"

"King's." 

"Chancery Lane?" 

"Yes, as a matter of fact. Have you been there before?"

“Gave a few lectures there, long time ago now. Nice place." Crowley stared down into his coffee. Black as his soul with a spoon of sugar when Ezra wasn’t looking. “You, er, do seem the bookish type. No offence meant.”

“None taken, dear fellow. I  _ am  _ rather the bibliophile by nature, I suppose.” Ezra wrapped his hands around his steaming mug and gave a gentle sigh, wiggling in place on his seat. "Warlock and I actually live above a bookshop in Soho. Tried my hand working down there, when I was younger, but it hurt me so much...I just couldn't do it."

Crowley frowned. “Hurt you?”

“Oh, it was a  _ complete  _ nightmare,” Ezra bemoaned. “I tried everything, you know. Awkward opening hours, funny smells - honestly, everything short of actual violence-”

Crowley leaned forward, a shit-eating grin rising to his face. “Are you telling me that it hurt you...to sell books...in a  _ bookshop?” _

“...Perhaps.” That delightful blush was surfacing again.

"And now you lend them out to students. Late fees, tea rings, dog-eared pages, drunken frat boys, the lot.” Crowley all but giggled into his coffee. “You’re amazing. You're ridiculous. I love it. Holy fuck.”

Ezra gave a quiet, polite laugh. "You're looking better today," he said.

Right, Ezra wanted to change the subject now; duly noted. "I feel less dead than I did yesterday, at the very least," he shrugged. "Amazing what half a bottle of Benadryl can do for you."

"Was that wise?"

"Still alive, aren't I?"

Ezra tittered as he sipped his tea. "You high-fliers, always living in the fast lane."

"Telling me off now?"

"I'm hardly in a position to scold you, dear fellow," he replied, and Crowley chuckled as he sipped from his own mug. “Ah, but may I ask a rather silly question?”

“Go ahead.”

“What should I call you?"

"Eh?"

"Only I realise it might be inappropriate to keep calling you Anthony when nobody else seems to. Do you prefer AJ? Your surname? Or-”

Crowley held up a hand. “Anthony is fine."  _ I don’t mind it from you. _

“O-Oh.” Ezra brightened up. “That’s a relief. I  _ did  _ worry I might have been insulting you.”

"Oh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you  _ could  _ insult me.” He got to his feet, making for the coffee pot for a refill. “Staying for lunch, Ezra? Not a fussy eater, are you?"

Ezra smiled, patting his belly. “Now  _ that  _ is a silly question, my dear.” He was soft and rounded underneath his worn velvet waistcoat, an outward expression, a testament to the man's love of earthly indulgences. Crowley followed the movement keenly, smiling back in unabashed approval. 

"Oh, I think you and I are gonna get along just fine."

Lunch was simple, chicken salad tossed through with avocado and, on a whim, a box of pomegranate seeds Crowley found in the back of the fridge. He'd pay Ana back for them later. "Daytime wine drinker, angel?" Crowley called as he was plating up. The nickname fell unbidden from his lips, but it felt right. It suited him.

“As if you even have to ask, dear boy,” Ezra giggled, already fetching wine glasses from a nearby cupboard.

"Consider it done." Crowley filled their glasses with a wink over the top of his sunglasses and came to sit back at the island. 

The boys were content to eat in Adam's room; there was no dragging them away from Adam's dinosaur collection, which left Crowley with the front row seat at the show of Ezra eating. Fucking  _ hell,  _ it was borderline pornographic, downright sinful. He made little moans and happy sighs around near every forkful, eyes forever fluttering closed in obvious delight. Crowley drank it up greedily, ignoring his own food, fingers tracing his wine glass to distract from the growing ache in his jeans. 

"Mm. Oh, my. This is utterly scrumptious, Anthony. So simple, so  _ good."  _

"I-I-" He'd never been so turned on by food in his fucking life, what the fuck. "I'm glad you like it."

Ezra reached for his wine glass. "You know, a thought just came to me, if you don't mind me bringing up the Wikipedia page."

"Fire away."  _ Don't stop eating, I'm just about ready to fucking cream myself here. In fact, yeah, stop eating for a minute, I'm just about ready to fucking cream myself here. _

"I found it pleasantly surprising that you share your middle name with an archangel," continued Ezra. "My siblings have angelic names, too. I am the odd one out, of course - as Gabriel likes to tell me, as frequently as he can-"

"Hang on - Gabriel? As in Dr Gabriel Fell?" Crowley leaned forward, arousal forgotten momentarily. "Mr Business and Bureaucracy himself?  _ He's _ your brother?"

"You know him?" Ezra looked mildly surprised.

"Only by reputation, but fuck, you've got my sympathies."

Ezra smiled at that. "He can be a little... overbearing, but he means well. He's the eldest, you see. I suppose he wants to just keep us all on the right track."

"By being a condescending arsehole?"

"Well. Uh." Ezra's cheeks lit up a touch. 

Crowley waved a hand, scooping up some chicken onto his fork with the other. "I'm curious about your other siblings, though. Tell me more, angel."

He came from a large family, as it turned out; not out of the ordinary for Haredim, but, as Ezra explained between forkfuls, the Felsenthals became the Fells a few generations ago when they emigrated to England, leaving much of their old community behind. They were now "about as Haredi as a bacon sandwich with extra cheese," as Ezra put it, to spluttering laughter from Crowley as he eagerly refilled their wine glasses. 

There was Ezra, and the youngest, Uriel, a Ghanaian adoptee; Sandalphon, who went by Sandy, then the twins Michaela and Gabriel - and Gabriel took great pleasure in making sure everyone knew he was a full five minutes older than his sister. Their father George passed away when Ezra was twenty-one, but their mother Sofie lived still in their childhood home in Stamford Hill.

"D'you speak Hebrew 'round your family, then?" Crowley asked. 

"Yiddish, and only really with my mother and the occasional student on campus."

"I've never heard Yiddish before, I don't think."

Ezra smiled wryly. "You said 'schmuck' earlier."

"Holy shit, is that Yiddish?"

"Indeed." Their plates had long since been relegated to the sink, a second bottle of wine opened. "Enough about our lot, at any rate," Ezra smiled, "tell me about  _ your  _ family, dear fellow."

"What, you don't already know every sordid little detail?" Crowley teased. 

"Really, Anthony, I pay no attention to tabloid gossip."

So he talked - minimally - about his sister, and his two living brothers. Couldn't spare a thought for the dead one. Not without spacing out in front of Ezra. A brief shudder, an echo of gunfire in his ears, and he righted himself with a smile. No harm done, Ezra none the wiser. "...And then there's just mum," Crowley finished.

"What of your father?" Ezra enquired.

"Never knew him. None of us know our dads. Mum never liked anyone enough to keep 'em around." 

"She sounds very...strong-willed."

"Gotta be, to shoehorn your way in beside Murdoch and his lot."

"I'm sorry, who?"

"Wow, you really  _ don't _ pay any mind to media goings on, do you?"

Ezra wriggled in his seat. "I prefer my books," he said quietly, a soft innocence in his tone. "There's always so much going on outside, it's hard to escape it when everything is reported on so quickly...oh, but listen to me prattling on. You've been around it your whole life, you must be used to it."

"Used to it," Crowley agreed, "but doesn't mean I like it."

"You don't?"

"Nah. Gimme a good merlot, a fern or two,  _ Golden Girls  _ on TV...that'd be me sorted, really. Too old for all these parties and red carpet gatherings."

A shy smile slid onto Ezra’s face. “I do enjoy a quiet night in, as well.”

“Could do one together,” Crowley offered, “if you fancy it. Boys’d love it. Sleepover and all that.”

“That sounds lovely. Yes, I rather think we should.” Ezra’s smile widened. 

“So? Dad friends?” Crowley held his hand out to Ezra. He took it without hesitation and shook it, squeezing gently afterwards,  _ god  _ but his skin was so fucking  _ soft… _

“Dad friends. Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Not that bad really,” smirked Crowley, “once you get used to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year on from the last chapter - we meet some of Crowley's family, and learn a little more of his past.

Autumn faded to winter, the new year ushered in with the usual fanfare and societal exclamations of "didn't this year just fly by?!" Fireworks and parties gave way to the January slump, and following that it was business as normal for everyone. The hardest part, of course, was adjusting to writing "2019". Half the nation's documents - and Crowley's and Ezra's were no exception - bore the frustrated scribbles of correction.

It was now September, and the start of a new term, a new class at school for the boys. For Ezra, new students on campus. For Crowley, new premieres and sundry events to attend. More importantly, the two families had known each other for a year, and in that time, there had been countless playdates; Ezra dropping off an excitable Warlock at Crowley's flat, or Adam walking back with Ezra and Warlock to spend a few hours with them in their home above the bookshop, till Crowley finished his various necessary businesses and was able to pick him up. Shared birthdays and holidays, a picnic here, a café there, infinite mugs of caffeine drunk, endless jokes and smiles and emotions thought long lost, buried into the ground until they weren't. It was _good._ Crowley had floated through those last twelve months on cloud nine, weightless, never wanting to touch the ground.

_My first true friend._

As far as socialites went, he didn't much mingle with a crowd, preferred not quite fitting in. As such, he didn't have what anyone would call a social circle. He went along with whatever his mother told him to, played his part, and scuttled off home, back into wilful isolation. The only people he could previously call friends were work colleagues, former and current. He still missed Stephen terribly, the whole world did, and he hadn't seen Brian in at least three years. Ana was probably the only actual friend up until recently. When she wasn't yelling at him, anyway. Which was always. He'd threatened, as he often did, to fire her when Adam started to copy her, but she'd laughed in his face and blew him a kiss, and god, he loved what an arsehole she was.

But Ezra. _Ezra._ The pure, sweet, non-judgemental, fucking _perfect_ angel that had swept in one rainy September morning and comforted him at the first school drop-off. Nothing about Crowley seemed to faze him; not the snake tattoo behind his right ear, or the women's blouses he sometimes wore to their coffee shop meetups, or even - and Crowley enjoyed this one immensely - the sheer amount of wine he could drink in the space of a night. Most tried to suggest rehab. Ezra suggested another bottle, and matched him glass for glass. They'd even been pictured together in the papers once or twice, which Crowley had flown into a complete flap about, but Ezra, ever the bastard, had burst into giggles, not bothered by it in the slightest, and Crowley loved him for it. Just loved him, really. Hard not to.

"The hell’re you looking so dopey about?"

Crowley opened his eyes and scowled, displeased at the disturbance of his happy meandering. Sprawled as he was on Mother Dearest’s office couch, he could just about make out the speaker, the ruiner of his fantasies; his brother sitting nearby, hazy in his peripheral vision, and the sight offended every one of his senses. Crowley flipped the bird at him in lieu of a verbal response.

The morning had been like most others: wake up, drown in caffeine, drop Adam off at school, banter with Ezra at the gates. Then Ana called to remind him of an interview he was scheduled for (which was, in reality, 70% flirting with Owen Jones, 30% discussing Crowley’s involvement with the Mermaids charity), and he’d only just finished that up when he had the call from Bee, telling him to stop by her office. So, here we was, though she had yet to even look up from her paperwork, let alone tell him why his presence was required, or why Hassel had insisted on hanging about.

Hassel was the eldest sibling, and also the ugliest. He smiled a sickly sneer that did nothing to reach his froggy, watery eyes as he took a drag of his cigarette, long and slow. He blew the smoke in Crowley's direction and was met with a pointed cough. “Daydreaming, are you? Thinking about pretty girls in the sun?”

Sun? In England? The man was mad. Crowley straightened up, reached for the wine glass in front of him, and knocked back the smooth liquid in one. "If you must know," he said, setting the glass down with a _click,_ "I was thinking about Adam."

"Adam? Luci's brat?"

"Yes, Hassel, your nephew, the one who lives with me. Do try to keep up, yes?"

"Don't like kids," Hassel muttered.

"You don't like much of anything, to be fair."

"Shut _up,_ you bumbling idiots," snapped Bee.

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. Rich, really, when he was the one with a doctorate and journals published in his name, but then again, what else could be expected from his family?

"You! Out there!" Bee snapped her fingers in the direction of her newest assistant. Without looking up, Bee shoved a folder at him. "I want those photocopied and laminated in _ten minutes,_ and on every desk in this place, so _make - it - snappy!_ Go, go!" She glared at his rapidly retreating back. "And don't trip over your -" 

He stumbled and fell, dropping the folder. 

"-shoelaces. Ugh, useless, the lot of them!" 

"How many assistants have you gone through so far this year, Mother?" Hassel smirked.

Bee was pushing seventy, but would likely be living to work till the day she died, red velvet hair bows and all. They always made Crowley think uneasily of a large fly sitting on her head. "Too many," she replied, eyes still on her paperwork, "and I don't care to remember anything of them."

"Charming," Crowley picked up the decanter on the table.

"Anthony."

"Mum."

"I expect you to leave still able to put one foot in front of the other."

"Nothing to fear on that front; the years have had me build up quite a tolerance," he grinned, topping up his glass. 

"Nice way of saying you're a drunk," Hassel said.

"Well, I _do_ pride myself on having a more sophisticated tongue than you lot."

"You better watch that tongue, 'fore I rip it outta your smug mouth."

Bee's own mouth twisted in a frustrated snarl as she threw a stapler at Hassel. "Out."

"But-"

 _"Out!"_ Bee hissed. Hassel, rubbing the stationery-shaped lump on his brow, glared at Crowley, stuck his dwindling cigarette between his lips, and stormed towards the elevator. 

"Something on your mind, Mum?" Crowley sipped his wine with a blissful sigh. If being dragged into the office had anything good about it, it was the wine. Always the wine. Beatrice Crowley would never stoop so low as to have cheap plonk within her sights.

Bee pursed her lips as she tapped her pen on her desk. Finally she stopped glaring at her paperwork in favour of glaring at Crowley. "What am I to do with any of you?" she snapped. "If Lionel and Hassel aren't getting into bar fights, it's Dana letting blunders slip through the editing, or you flirting with every man and his dog, or showing off on the red carpet like some vapid damsel. At least Lucien had some sense. Only one of you that ever did."

Crowley mock-pouted. "And here I thought you loved me."

"Listen to me, idiot. You're forty-one, and all you have to show for your years on Earth is that atrocious car and a boy you didn't even want to take on in the first place-"

"I mean, I did do pretty well at uni, too-”

"Oh, yes. _Stars._ How novel." Bee snorted. She pulled a sheaf of papers out of a desk and eyed them over a minute, then tossed them to Crowley, who made no move to pick them up. "Our shares are going down faster than when Lucien died,” she said. “They could have floated longer had you agreed to take on his business, but you, moron, sold it-"

“What the fuck was I going to do with a nightclub, anyway?” snapped Crowley.

“You used to spend enough time in them - you tell me,” Bee shot back at him. “In any case, I’m going to need you to do a little something for me. Some familial repair work, as it were.”

"Am I? Are you my manager now?” Crowley slumped back with a groan. “Oh, goodie, like I don’t already get ordered around enough.”

“Shut up a minute.” Bee steepled her fingers together. “I’ve had this company for a long time, Anthony. I was running it long before you were making yourself known on the party scene, and you’ve always been the one keeping interest high, even when you were teaching. I know what makes the readers tick, what makes them excited. Last few years, though, you’ve withdrawn. People aren’t _seeing_ you anymore. Events and campaigns and all your philanthropic bullshit, yes, but where’s your _real_ life? Downstairs are forever fielding their way through letters wondering what you’re up to.”

“I’m a dad now. Maybe I like my privacy a bit more these days,” shrugged Crowley. 

“You don’t _get_ to have privacy,” Bee scowled, “not when you’re famous. You should know that.”

“I’ve been papped a few times lately,” Crowley pointed out. 

“You and that fat little man?” Crowley saw red, violently resisted the urge to chuck his wine at Bee. “I’ve seen them, yes. Are you seeing _him?”_

“What? No!”

It obviously wasn’t the answer Bee wanted, but her face gave nothing away. Her infamous poker face had won her numerous exclusives. “When was the last time you actually had a relationship?"

“Uh…”

“Went on a date?”

“Mmmnnneurgh…”

“Spent time with someone other than your right hand?”

“Mum!” Crowley spluttered, nearly dropping his wine. “So I haven’t seen anyone in a while, big deal. Who cares? How the fuck am I supposed to remember how far back it was?”

“Well, that’s going to change, Anthony.” Bee pushed herself back from the desk and stalked round it to snatch the wine glass from Crowley’s hand - though not before he got one last deep swig out of it. “The public love a good romance. It gets people talking, debating. _Especially_ if it’s someone like you.”

“Someone like me,” Crowley repeated flatly. 

“Exactly. So here’s what you’re going to do.” She stared at him with dark, steely eyes. “Go on a few dates, make sure you’re visible. Man, woman, something in between, I really don’t care. Find someone and settle down, do all that mushy domestic stuff.” She stood, all five feet of her, hands on hips. “That fat friend of yours? Either fuck him or forget him.”

“W-What?!” Crowley choked.

“You heard me.” Bee settled back behind the desk, picked up her pen, and with eyes back on her paperwork, silently declared the conversation closed.

Well.

That was that, apparently.

Crowley left soon after, throwing himself into the Bentley with a slew of curse words and more force than was strictly necessary. He spent several minutes patting the seats and apologising to them before driving off in the direction of the flat. 

Fuck him or forget him? Holy fucking shit. Normal mother-son conversation, what was that again? Was it too late to ask Ana’s mother to adopt him? Why were parents like this?!

“Look,” Crowley muttered to his steering wheel, “it’s not that I don’t like dating, I just don’t have the _time._ Plants need watering. Adam needs feeding. _I_ need watering, not so much feeding. How much wine do I have at home? Great, now I need to go shopping as well…”

A pick-me-up, that was what he needed...could probably wheedle his way into a last-minute mani-pedi somewhere, or, hang on, was there any of that whiskey left in the-

_Find me, somebody to-o-o-o love~_

“Fucking hell, I’m cursed.” 

Crowley went to jab at his phone sitting in its holder, but seeing Ezra’s name flashing up, he softened. He answered the call and tapped it over to loudspeaker. “Hey, angel.”

 _"Ah, hello, my dear.”_ Ezra sounded harried, so not entirely out of the ordinary for him, but still, Crowley frowned as he rolled up to a red light. _“Um, quick question - does Anathema take on more than just Adam?"_

"Eh? No, she just works for me - d'you need her to watch Warlock?"

 _"Tomorrow evening, yes. Last-minute arrangement, quite unavoidable, I'm afraid.”_ He huffed down the phone. _“Dinner with my siblings. Don’t know_ what _I’ve got myself into, honestly, it'll be such a disaster...I can pay Miss Device for her time, of course."_

"Don't worry 'bout that,” Crowley drawled. “Bring him over."

_"You're sure?"_

"Positive. I'll cover it. My treat."

 _"Oh, I think_ you _might be the angel here, Anthony."_

Crowley snorted. _"_ Less of that, I've a reputation to keep.”

 _“Of course, dear.”_

“Right. See you tomorrow?"

_“Around six?”_

“Perfect.”

Fucking Ezra was out of the question. The man was as gay as the trees, and even if there _was_ something between them - which there wasn’t, clearly there wasn’t - he deserved better. He was far too pure to be tainted by the sins of Crowley’s family, the scourge of the paparazzi.

But forgetting him? Not gonna happen. Ever.

Not when what they had was already so damn good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra swears, and Crowley is a-ok with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My initial chapter count is now all over the place from me splicing bits and pieces together, and deleting others. Ah well.  
> Thank you, everyone, for all your support over my many writing journeys - it means a lot to me and I hope I can keep giving you nerdy shit to gush over for a long time to come.

"Is Warlock coming soon? Uncle AJ, _is Warlock coming soon?”_

"Hold still, you little devil!" Crowley tightened his knees around Adam, holding him in place as he dragged a brush through the squirming boy's hair. “He should be on his way - _Adam, will you bloody hold still?!”_

"Nath'ma does it nicer!" Adam protested, extremely unhappy at his well-placed tangles being destroyed.

"Do you?" Crowley glowered up at Ana, comfortable on the sofa. 

She winked at him from behind her teacup. "Maybe."

"You do it, then.”

"Sorry, I'm off the clock for another, oh, two minutes seventeen seconds."

"I hate you."

"Aww, if I weren't being paid extra tonight, I'd hate you, too, Mr Grumpy." 

The doorbell rang at that point, and Adam shot up from Crowley's grip to answer it. With the sudden loss of nephew, Crowley looked at the brush in his hand, shrugged, and began to neaten his own hair. 

No dirt had stuck under his nails since the day Ezra first came over. Nope, the Crowley of the moment was scrubbed clean and sporting a casual ensemble; tight-fitting, black v-neck tee, even tighter-fitting black jeans, and pink Primarni socks because why the fuck not. His sunglasses were off, but Ana swiftly handed them over before he could start patting himself down. He slipped them on with a nod in her direction just as Warlock came running into the room, all smiles, Adam trailing behind. 

"Hello!" Warlock announced. 

"Hey, kiddo," Crowley grinned, chucking the hairbrush over his shoulder and holding his free hand out for a fist bump, which Warlock gave with enthusiasm.

"I brought biscuits with me. Dad says they’re chocolate," Warlock said, indicating his little backpack.

"Oh, dear. The womens' mags get mad at me if I don't watch my waistline." Crowley patted his belly and stuck his tongue out at Warlock, who laughed along with Adam.

"Come off it, my dear. If anything you could afford to put on a few pounds." Ezra appeared in the doorway, holding Warlock's jacket. 

A flood of warmth suffused Crowley's face, his smile feeling like a starburst. "Hey, angel."

"Hello, Anthony. Thank you _so_ much for agreeing to take Warlock for the night."

"What are friends for, eh?" He slithered to his feet, joints cracking. "Got time for a drink before you go?"

Ezra shook his head. "I'm afraid not, I must dash off again or Gabriel will never let me hear the end of it - do keep in touch, though, won't you?” He wrung his hands together, already fretting. “I haven't actually _left_ Warlock overnight with anybody before..."

"Don't worry,” Crowley soothed, “he's in good hands with our Ana."

“I don’t doubt it. I’m just an old silly.” Ezra leaned down to peck Ana on the cheek. “Hello, dear.”

Ana smiled at him. “Hi, Ezra. I’ll text you later, let you know what they’ve been up to, but I promise your son will still be alive come morning.”

"Thank you." A little weight seemed to leave Ezra's shoulders. "Well...must go, then." He gestured to Warlock, presently roughhousing with Adam, and the former ambled over, beaming. They came together in a long embrace, Ezra pressing kisses over Warlock's rosy cheeks. 

“I love you, my darling-”

“Dad, ew, quit it-”

“You will be on your best behaviour, won’t you? But if you feel lonely or - or sad - or just need to talk, then I can come straight back, don’t fret, I won’t-"

 _"Ez-_ ra," Crowley sing-songed, tapping his watch.

"U-Um. Yes. Quite." Ezra's eyes were overly shiny when he pulled back. Warlock ran back towards Adam and tackled him straight to the floor, immersed once more in their game as Ezra got to his feet, brushed down his already perfectly smooth trousers. 

"Well, then. I...I'll be going. Don’t want to miss anything.”

He looked miserable. He clearly didn't at all want to go to dinner with his family. He didn't want to leave his son behind, even if with a friend. Ezra was slow by nature, a creature of habit; he knew his comfort zone, and would stay within the lines of it as much as he could. Having that control taken away...Crowley understood the helplessness of it all too well, and the thought squeezed painfully at his heart.

"Come on, angel." He threw an arm round Ezra's shoulders and steered him firmly, but not unkindly, towards the front door. "It’ll only be a few hours away. Honestly, it'll have flown by before you know it." A lifetime of parties protested the lie, but at that moment Crowley would do anything to wipe the despair off of Ezra's rapidly paling face. "Won't be long before the kids are asleep, anyway,” he continued, “and they won't be getting up to much mischief when they're out for the count. So _relax._ I reckon you've earned some time off from being dad, hm?"

Ezra blinked his big, watery eyes up at Crowley, and his bottom lip finally stopped trembling. 

"Oh, Anthony, _thank_ you," he whispered. "I've just been fretting so much about all this. It's terrifying."

"Only as terrifying as you make it, angel.” 

“Well, I...I do feel a little better now.” Ezra dabbed his eyes. “You’re so good to me.”

“Ngk. Er...”

“You _are,_ Anthony. I’ve…” Ezra fidgeted on the spot, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. “I’ve never had a friend like you.” He leaned up onto his toes, and Crowley sucked in a sudden, gasping breath of shock as Ezra pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. “I mean it,” Ezra murmured as he pulled away. “Thank you, dear, for everything you do.” 

_I’m gonna die. I’m burning, oh god, I’m melting._ Crowley twisted his delighted surprise into a friendly smile. “No worries, angel. Now go, go on, put on a few pounds in my place, you deserve it!" 

With a final comforting pat on the back, Crowley urged Ezra through the front door and closed it with a _snap._

A long, low huff of breath whooshed from his lungs as he turned, leaning his back against the cool wood. Eyes trained on the ceiling, he sighed. 

Asshole families, huh? Universal wherever you went.

Ana was staring at him from the doorway when he looked back, her expression a picture of utter glee. Oh, no. He knew that look. "What?" he snapped at her.

She smirked as she stepped into the hallway, pulling the lounge door closed behind her. "I’ve been saying it since the first time I saw you together-”

“Don’t you dare.”

“-And I’ll say it again; you two seriously fancy the pants off each other-” She held up an infuriating hand when Crowley opened his mouth to argue, “-shut up a minute, Anthony, which you don’t let just _anyone_ call you, and what is it you call _him?_ ‘Angel?’” She stopped in front of Crowley, expression triumphant. “You, my ridiculous friend, are smitten.”

“Not.” Crowley folded his arms and turned away.

“Oh, you so are. Ask him out!”

“Not having this conversation with you."

"You're blushing."

"I'm walking away now!"

"You're a soppy git!"

"I will _fire_ your ass, I swear to fucking Satan himself!"

From somewhere in the lounge, Warlock gasped, "Your uncle said a _swear!"_ which Crowley only just heard as he stormed into his bedroom, locked himself in the ensuite bathroom, and proceeded to have a _very_ cold shower.

 _We’ve never touched like that._ It was true. Bumped shoulders and playful hands smacking at arms, yes, but - and Crowley, the fucking idiot, he’d started it with putting an arm around him- but _Ezra_ was the one to kiss him. That wasn’t out of the ordinary for him, he greeted most people with kisses; even Crowley had been given the odd peck once or twice. He _hadn’t_ been given a long, gentle, meaningful smooch on the cheek, not by Ezra, not by _anyone._

By the time Crowley had almost frozen his balls off in the shower, he felt better, calmer. He towelled off, dressed, and put his hair into a loose bun before going to check in on Ana and the boys. He received a stuffed dinosaur to the face for his efforts and ended up chasing a cackling Adam around the flat while Warlock peered out from behind Ana’s skirts, unsure whether to join in on the fun. He did, once Crowley tossed the dinosaur to him and told him to “give Adam the Hell he came from,” and soon the hallways were filled with the sounds of shrieking laughter, breathless chatter; an endless stream of joy that had Crowley and Ana trading dopey expressions as they tidied up after the two whirlwinds.

“Don’t bother having kids, Ana, you can just take those two home with you,” he commented later in the evening, as she helped him in the kitchen, the boys colouring in pictures at their feet.

“Why do you think I work for you? Pass me that onion, there.”

Crowley tossed it over with one hand, stirring rice with the other. “Sometimes I wonder why you decided to in the first place.”

Ana grinned and elbowed Crowley in the side. “Honestly, Adam looks after himself. It’s you I worry about more.”

“I’m a big boy, sweetheart, I can look after myself.”

“No, you can’t,” Adam muttered from the floor. “You fell over your shoes this morning.”

“Guess who isn’t getting extra sour cream in his burrito.”

“I’ll ask Nath’ma for her one. It’s nicer, anyway.”

Crowley jabbed his stirring spoon at Ana. “You’re turning my nephew into a bloody rabbit.”

“I’m not a _rabbit,”_ Adam interjected. “I’m looking after the _planet.”_

Crowley yanked his sunglasses down to glare at Ana. She smiled, the very picture of witchy innocence.

“Wine?” she offered.

He jammed his sunglasses back up. “Wine.”

* * *

After dinner, they ate their way through Warlock’s offered biscuits, and then Crowley chucked them both in the bath, leaving Ana to deal with the pyjamas side of things. Adam was far too wriggly and ticklish for Crowley; putting his nightclothes on usually ran the risk of being smacked in the face by a wayward foot. 

But finally, they were dried and dressed and relaxing in Adam’s bedroom blanket fort with full bellies and a story about...well, probably something like tree spirits, given it was Ana’s turn to read tonight. Once silence finally descended on the flat, Ana strolled back into the lounge, cleaning her glasses on the hem of her blouse. 

"Both out for the count," she murmured. "Thought they'd stay up all night, the way they were running around…"

"Tired 'emselves out,” Crowley shrugged. He'd sprawled out across his sofa in a tangle of limbs, head resting on the rather unwieldy sofa arm and sunglasses askew on his face. 

"That's putting it mildly. I've never seen Adam so excited." Anathema slipped her glasses back up onto her nose as she settled cross-legged in the armchair Ezra always sat in when he came over. “It’s so lovely, to see how close he and Warlock have become over this last year. I’m glad of it.”

"Yeah. Me too."

“You as well. You and Adam are getting along better, not to mention how fond you are of Ezra.” 

"Ngk."

“Look, Anthony,” she sighed, “I wasn’t trying to tease you earlier. You really do like him, don’t you?”

Crowley's mouth twitched. "'S’not...professional...to talk about that with my employee."

"Anthony," Anathema repeated, "I’ve not seen you this happy in years. Your aura lights up like a frigging beacon when he’s around. It’s _okay_ to feel good about-"

"Stop it, Ana.” He didn’t mean to sound as harsh as he did, and felt awful when she shrank back a little. “He's just a friend, alright?” he said, softer now. “Leave it at that. Please?"

She opened her mouth, but suddenly there was a long, repeated pounding at the front door, and they exchanged confused glances instead.

"What on earth…?" Crowley flung himself out of his sprawl and slunk towards the door. A prank call, maybe, some kids being stupid…

Nope. 

It was a dishevelled, beaming, and _very_ drunk angel, brandishing an empty wine bottle in one hand. The other held him steady on the doorframe.

"There he is!” he exclaimed. “My friend! I know _you_ won't ridicule me all night, will you, dear?"

Crowley stared at him, blinking slowly.

"Holy shit, Ezra. The hell happened?"

Ezra stared back a moment with unfocused eyes - then the smile dropped, as did the bottle, and he burst into tears.

"They were all so _mean_ to me!" Glass shattered against their ankles as he tumbled forwards into Crowley's arms, sobbing his heart out.

Naturally, the best thing to do - the instinctive thing to do - in a situation like this, is to offer some sort of comfort. Maybe a pat on the back, or a firm, squeezing embrace. A few soft words of reassurance and some tissues to mop up the tears. _“There, there, it’s okay, you’re safe now. What can I do to make this better?”_

Instead of all that, Crowley short-circuited into tartan oblivion as he uttered a paralysed, “ngk.” 

That was how Ana found them a moment later - Ezra with his head buried in Crowley's shoulder, Crowley clinging to him with a sort of awkward desperation and mouthing _help me!_ in her general direction. Eyes rolling, Ana flapped her hands at Crowley and took a sniffling Ezra to the kitchen, leaving Crowley to stand in the hallway, utterly bemused.

Once rebooted, Crowley came to his senses, simmering rage rapidly replacing his momentary stupor. What had they done to his sweet, precious angel? An involuntary growl slipped out as Crowley turned on his heel and stormed into the kitchen. 

Ezra sat at the island, surrounded by the boys’ drawings, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve and looking very wobbly atop the narrow stool while Ana made tea. Crowley leaned over the counter and grabbed Ezra’s hands, squeezing them firmly, careful touching be damned.

“What did they say to you?!” 

"Anthony!” Ana snapped. “Calm down!” He ignored her. 

Ezra let out a watery giggly, swaying on his stool, more tears spilling down his flushed, plump cheeks. His fingers wriggled slightly in Crowley’s hold, making no move to pull away.

"Angel. Please tell me.”

Ezra’s eyes lowered to their linked hands. He let out a hearty sniff.

"They all think I'm nothing. Useless. An embarrassment to our family. Told me as much." Crowley's hands tightened around Ezra's, jaw clenching in fury. _"But,"_ Ezra continued, "but they're right. Gabriel's, well - have you _seen_ Gabriel? He's amazing, so clever and - and a _Dean,_ wouldn’t you believe, and Uriel’s blazing through law school, I’m so proud of her, really I am, but little old me? Fat, fussy, boring brother that I am? Nothing, _nothing_ to pin a little pride to my name, nope, not a thing.” A drunken laugh bubbled out of him, head tossed back, bursting with intermittent sobs.

_Gimme an address, Ezra. I just wanna talk to them. Hug ‘em. Round the neck. With a rope._

Anathema set a mug of tea in front of Ezra, glaring at Crowley as she did so. "Let. Go. Of him.”

Crowley withdrew with the least venomous glower he could bring himself to adequately muster. Every nerve in his body screamed to, well, scream "how _dare_ they," possibly break a few things. He was good at that, breaking things. Only when Adam wasn't around, though. 

Ezra reached for his mug and took a diligent sip. He looked calmer now, having had his little ramble. It’s okay,” he sighed. "I'm used to it." 

_Oh,_ that hurt a familiar pain. Mother dearest’s firm tones rang clear, all those years of grinding her brood below her heel to shape them into what _she_ wanted. Never able to question it, just going along with it, never being enough, _wanting_ to be enough, giving up when the steam ran out and the engine trembled to a halt. Crowley reached for Ezra's hand again, paused, drew back a moment later. "It’s all lies. All of it. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, angel.”

Ezra said nothing. A few tears splashed into his mug, lips pressed tightly together as his body quivered.

"Calm now?" Ana asked Crowley, who gave a low grunt. "I'll be in my room if you need me." And she swept off, the bracelets on her wrists jangling. 

Now wasn't the time to dwell on his own family matters. With Ezra here, drunk and vulnerable, he needed assurance. Crowley gathered his courage - and his remaining brain cells - to reach out again. He patted the back of Ezra’s hand gently. "You alright?"

"I suppose.” Ezra sounded hollow, but he’d stopped crying, at least. “The room is very spinny right now."

"How much have you actually had to drink?"

"Ah, now _that -"_ Ezra held up a finger, suddenly giggling again, "well, that is to say, I - might have taken a _very_ expensive Chardonnay, and told Gabriel I'd stick it up his smarmy arse if he protested." Crowley smirked at the profanity. "I believe I had two glasses with dinner, and then the whole bottle on the way here, so…oh dear, that's quite a lot, isn't it?"

"Might be able to out-drink _me,_ angel.” Now that was difficult to do. Most reporters had learned that the hard way. "Stay here tonight," he offered. “Saves you getting a cab back. Spare room’s all yours if you want it.”

"I don't want to impose-"

"I don't think you ever could. 'Sides, Warlock'd love to wake up and find you here.”

Ezra pondered, staring into his tea. "Yes, alright then," he said after a moment, and he looked up at Crowley, smiling broadly, if still a little watery - Crowley might have kissed him senseless if he lacked even an ounce of self-restraint.

He patted Ezra's hand again. "It's still early. Reckon I might have a few drinks myself. That okay with you?"

"It's your home, darling. Don't stop yourself on my account." Ezra reached for his hand this time, and squeezed gently.

* * *

Half an hour after Ezra’s abrupt return to the flat, he had popped his head round Adam's bedroom door, just to see how Warlock was doing, and dissolved into tears again at the sight of the boys in the blanket fort, tangled in a completely ridiculous sprawl and cosy in the depths of slumber. Crowley had had to drag him away lest he barge in and sweep Warlock into a tight, drunken hug. 

And now it was near 2am. Ezra had been back in the flat for six hours, and he and Crowley had been drinking solidly for three of them. 

The lights were dimmed, the doors were closed, rock music played quietly from surround sound speakers and a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape sat cradled in Crowley's hand. Just the way he loved to spend his evenings alone.

But he wasn’t alone. That was new, and not unwelcome in the slightest.

“The point is - the point is-” There _was_ a point somewhere in the swamp of Crowley’s drunken mind. He sipped his wine, smooth, dark fullness slipping down his throat. “The point _is-”_ He brightened suddenly, “The point I’m trying to make, is the dolphins. That’s my point.”

“Kind of fish.” Ezra topped up his glass with the unpleasant clang of bottle on rim.

“Nononono, ‘s mammal. Regular mammal. Difference is, difference is they, er-”

“...Mate out of water?”

Crowley frowned. “Don’t think so. Something ‘bout their young. Not my point. Anyway, the point is. The point _is,_ their brains.” He gestured for the bottle in Ezra’s hand.

“What about their brains?” Ezra handed it over.

“Big brains. That’s my point. Size of. Size of. Size of damn big brains. Take it from me. And then there’s the whales. Brain city, take it from me. Whole damn sea full of brains, ‘n’ then whoops, here comes the Kraken ‘n’ the boiling sea-”

“Ah, the End Times.”

“Coming sooner than we think.”

“We have a tale. Gog and Magog.” Ezra stared into his glass. “Land torn asunder, the righteous revived, and everyone lives forever.”

Crowley shrugged. “Till a bloody great asteroid comes crashing down, yeah.”

“Might be an improvement.”

“‘Specially if it lands right on your Gabriel.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Crowley’s sunglasses had come off at some point in the night. It was an evening instinct of his, to whack them off and chuck them onto the nearest affordable surface, and tonight was no exception. Several bottles of wine either had a sparkling effect on his self-esteem, or else sent it crashing to the ground like an aforementioned asteroid on top of an aforementioned academic’s head. Being the former tonight, he hadn’t stopped to think of how Ezra might have reacted to his eyes. 

Hadn’t stopped to remember he’d never shown Ezra his eyes.

Hadn’t stopped to think, until the very moment that Ezra placed his glass on the table, and lifted both hands to cup Crowley’s cheeks. His thumbs brushed the skin below Crowley’s eyes around the same time that Crowley forgot how to breathe.

"So pretty…”

Slowly, Crowley lifted his own shaking hands, slender fingers closing around Ezra's wrists. He’d never been so entranced by the feel of a pulse below his fingers before, and _nobody_ had ever called his eyes pretty, holy _fuck_. 

“Why do you hide them, darling? They’re beautiful.”

“Light sensitive,” Crowley muttered, lowering Ezra’s hands back down. Not so much light sensitive as congenitally deformed with some stupid name that he had no hopes of pronouncing whilst sloshed off the flat planes of his arse.

“Oh, darling, I am sorry.”

“The fuck’re you apologising for?” As quickly as he’d lowered them, Crowley found himself grabbing for Ezra’s hands again, bringing them back up to his face. Ezra gave a little gasp as his fingers brushed over Crowley’s warm cheeks again. “Don’t pity me, alright? ‘M a big boy, don’t need to be fussed over.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You - oh, for fucks’ sake, angel-” Laughter spilled out of them both uncontrollably, foreheads pressed together in their shared mirth. Ezra’s fingers tightened ever so slightly, heels of his hands cupping Crowley’s jaw, a pressure he never knew he needed, and wanted to keep there till the end of time. Eventually, though, Ezra pulled back.

“I think we’re a bit drunk, darling.” And they both burst out laughing once more.

“Time to sober up?”

“Yes, I rather think we should - and I know just the trick.”

Sobering up, in Ezra’s world, involved ice water, sandwiches, and two paracetamol washed down with a large cup of strong coffee. He grumbled at the inside of Crowley’s fridge, though, which sent Crowley running down the street to the nearest Subway store before you could say “nine grain honey oat.” 

They settled back on the sofa together with _Golden Girls_ on the telly, eating and chatting, slowly coming down from their drunken revelries into something a bit more functional. Crowley felt himself drifting off only a few bites into his BMT, but Ezra, with his head on Crowley’s shoulder, didn’t look to be faring much better. 

He couldn’t think of a better way to fall asleep, though he’d probably regret the crumbs later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is trying, he really is, but he's also a disaster on legs, the poor thing.

Adam and Warlock were holding hands as they waited for the doors to open; arms swinging, giggling, the whole lot. It was sickeningly sweet - much more so than the coffee in Crowley’s travel mug, as he’d forgotten to pick up sugar on the last shopping trip and had to compensate with a (not-so-reasonably-sized) dash of brandy instead. Always five o’clock somewhere, and all that.

“Oh, look at them, Anthony," Ezra murmured fondly. He was beaming joyfully at Adam and Warlock, his own hands clasped firmly before him and resting on his stomach. "I do so love how close our little ones are."

"Not so little anymore, eh?" 

"Mm. I had to buy some more trousers for Warlock last week; he grew out of his old ones so fast."

"I  _ did _ think his clothes looked new."

"Ever the keen eye, darling." Ezra turned his beaming smile briefly onto Crowley before swivelling back to the boys. His plump cheeks had grown rosy in the brisk October wind, despite the scarf wrapped around his face - tartan, of fucking course it was - and his nose glowed pink to boot, like a soft, blonde Rudolph. Worst fucking comparison in the history of shit comparisons, Crowley inwardly scoffed. Definitely overdid it on the brandy. 

Ezra  _ was  _ soft, though, that wasn’t to be sniffed at. He’d felt as much, embracing as they did in Crowley’s doorway, falling asleep on the couch together, waking to find a fluffy head nestled into his belly and an arm draped loosely over his waist. Fuck, but he could have happily died in those warm arms, lost himself in soft smiles and soft bellies, shuffled off this mortal coil a man contented, having known the touch of an angel.

Something had changed since that night. The once-common brush of Ezra’s fingers against Crowley’s arm had become all but absent, and they stood further apart now, an unseen barrier between them, but at any given moment, Crowley could turn his head and catch Ezra staring at him, gazing with an emotion in his eyes that Crowley feared to name. Almost as if...

No, there was no way Ezra could ever want…

Not from a wreck like Crowley, but  _ oh,  _ he wanted, he  _ wanted - _

They’d danced around each other, in a way, since the day they met. It had to come to a head somehow. He could do it, he could ask. He was a big boy. He could take a little rejection. 

“Hey, Ezra?”

Ezra turned away from Adam and Warlock again. “Hm?”

“D’you think, um…” Crowley looked down, pushed his sunglasses firmly up his nose, fiddled with his hair. A different setting to talk it out, perhaps. Over dinner. Friends went to dinner together, right? No harm in asking. “I was wondering. We could. You know…d’you want to-”

The bell rang, the doors opened, and his confidence legged it down the street and into oncoming traffic. “Ngk.”

“Anthony?”

“Um. N-Never mind.”

Ezra was still looking at him curiously, but after a moment he nodded, murmured, “Alright, dearest,” and motioned for them to follow the boys into the classroom. Crowley trailed behind, kicking himself up the proverbial backside.

To his surprise, Warlock grabbed his hand as he entered, distracting him from the litany of  _ stupid, stupid, stupid  _ running through his head. Warlock tugged him over to a display on the wall, where lots of lovingly-scribbled pictures were pinned up, and jabbed at one of them with his free hand. “It’s your glasses!” he said proudly. “I drawed it all by myself.”

Crowley removed his glasses and crouched down to look at the drawing better. One couldn’t expect a six year old to manage much more than two swirly black circles with sticks on each end, but with a hint of pride, Crowley grinned at the carefully written (if slightly misspelled) brand name on the arms. “You’ve been paying attention to my shades, eh, kiddo?” He held up his glasses, comparing them to the drawing. 

“I think they’re cool,” Warlock replied.

“Wanna wear ‘em for a sec? Get a picture of you next to your drawing?”

Warlock’s face lit up. “Yes! Yes!” He stood stock-still as Crowley slid them into place, and stood beaming with pride by his drawing while Crowley pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. “Do I look cool?” Warlock asked as he lowered the phone.

“The absolute coolest,” agreed Crowley, showing him the picture. Warlock beamed and jumped up and down, hands flapping happily as Ezra walked over, head tilted with curiosity at the scene before him. “You alright, angel?” Crowley asked as he got to his feet. He winced at the ache in his knees. Too old for this kneeling crap now.

“Of course, darling. May I see that photograph?” Crowley handed his phone over and Ezra’s smile shone like a beacon as he looked down at it. “Oh, it’s lovely. Can you send it to me?”

“Sure thing.” 

“I must pinch Warlock from you now, though; he still needs to hand in his book bag. Adam is sitting on the carpet already.”

“Alright.” Warlock handed Crowley his glasses back and giggled when Crowley ruffled his hair. “Off you go, squirt. Go raise some hell.”

“Anthony, really,” Ezra huffed good-naturedly, chivvying Warlock over towards his teacher. Smirking, Crowley put his glasses back on, gave Adam a farewell wave, and went to wait by the door. 

Ezra was by his side again barely a minute later, prompt and proper as always. “Shall we, darling?” 

There it was again,  _ "darling,"  _ like it was something Ezra had called Crowley since they met. Which he hadn't. It was  _ "my dear" _ and _ "dear boy" _ right up until the moment he stumbled into Crowley's arms and fell asleep on his sofa. The endearment conjured up all sorts of hot and funny bubbles in Crowley's stomach, a feeling he couldn’t place as despair or delight.Nonetheless, he stepped aside with a gesture towards the door, and Ezra beamed at him as he bustled past. The bubbles intensified, along with the urge to squirm. 

Crowley gripped his travel mug like a lifeline as he hurried after Ezra. “Off to, uh...off to work, then?” he ventured. Same as every morning, come on, you can do this...act normal...

“Actually, I have the day off.” They slipped through the gates and onto the street, wind blowing in their faces and making their eyes water. “I thought we could go and get a drink together, perhaps? If you’re not busy?”

Crowley tripped over his own feet and dropped his travel mug. So much for acting normal. He steadied himself with one hand on the Bentley and willed himself not to swoon right there onto the pavement. He settled for picking up his mug instead while muttering a hurried, “yep, sure, sounds great.”

“Marvellous!” Ezra gave a happy wiggle on the spot. Always oblivious at the wrong times, that was his angel alright. “There’s a lovely place on the corner near me. I’ll direct you, if you like.” 

“Mmhm. Lovely. Yep.” With all the grace of a serpent falling off a tree branch, Crowley got into the driver’s seat, Ezra following to his left. After some fiddling with the radio, and much yelling at drivers turning without using their indicators (“fucking BMW drivers, I swear to fucking God!”), they were off into the morning rush hour. 

Ezra chattered away animatedly for the duration of the drive, Crowley content to listen with hummed agreements in between bouts of road rage and a constant inward screaming of _you_ _stupid fucking idiot, you’re over forty, quit acting like a teenager, stupid, stupid-_

“-honestly has no idea how to use a computer, the poor lad. Still, he’s only new. I rather think I - oh, just pull in somewhere here, darling - I ought to put up one of those signs, you know, ‘this library has gone so many days without Newton breaking the printer,’ and change the number of days accordingly.”

“Did you say Newton?” Crowley glanced sideways, ignoring his wing mirror and looking at Ezra instead. 

“I did, yes. Not a name one hears frequently these days. Lovely boy, technological ineptitude aside.”

“Huh. That’s a thing.” Crowley turned back to the road, narrowly avoiding clipping a cyclist’s back wheel as he swerved into reverse along the pavement. Ana’s boyfriend was called Newt. Might be the same person. Bloody funny if it was. He shut off the engine and filed that nugget of useless info away for later. 

The coffee shop Ezra directed them to was one Crowley had passed a few times before, but never thought to go in. Easier to stick his travel mug under his coffee machine at home, really, and there’d be nobody but himself to make judgy faces at the sugar he put in it. This was fine, though. He’d bottled asking Ezra to dinner, but getting coffee together, well, couldn’t complain at that. A step in the right direction, maybe.

They ordered their drinks - Crowley insisted on paying - and found an unoccupied table to sit (and in Crowley’s case, sprawl) at. Silence descended on them, and rather a lack of motion, too, save for the occasional reaching of hands for their mugs.

Ezra slowly set down his oolong, a frown pinching his brows together. “Something’s off.”

“Your tea brewed too long? I can get you another-”

“No, no, not the tea. It’s  _ you.”  _

“Eh?”

“You’re…” Ezra gestured vaguely, “fidgety. Your hands are trembling.”

“M’fine, angel.” The lie tasted like ash in Crowley’s mouth, and clearly it sat wrongly with Ezra, too; he slid his own hands across the table, reaching over and -

_ -and linking their fucking fingers together. _

“Ez...Ezra?” Crowley nearly combusted on the spot. “What’re you…?” Fuck, Ezra’s soft thumb was stroking the inside of his wrist, and it felt like - like - like nothing he’d ever felt before, but so  _ good.  _ The bubbling in his stomach might as well have been sailing past boiling point, his blood not far behind. He wanted to melt into it, lose himself in that velvety slide of skin on skin. 

“You know I’m here for you, don’t you? Whenever you need to talk?” Ezra squeezed Crowley’s hand gently. It took every ounce of concentration to nod in reply. “When you’re ready, darling...you know where I am.” Another squeeze. “Any time. Any place. I’m here.”

Now. It had to be done now. Ask him now. The fluttering nerves of asking Ezra out were back full force, threatening to purge Crowley’s stomach of coffee and brandy. Only a few words. Come on now.

He let out a deep breath, blew it out, and laid his free hand atop Ezra’s. So warm, so warm and soft and inviting…

“Ezra…” The tinkle of the bell above the entrance sounded harshly, followed by the  _ click  _ of high heels, and Crowley’s focus derailed momentarily.

“Yes, darling?” Always so patient.

“I…I want to…” That look was back in Ezra’s eyes; that veiled rapture, weaving and roiling just below his calm and buttoned-up surface. He leaned forward ever so slightly, head tilting. “Dammit, this shouldn’t be so  _ hard!” _

Ezra smiled. “Take your time.”

_ You can do this.  _

Crowley opened his mouth, ready to spill all -

And a woman’s voice rang out, 

“Coo-ee, my cherub!”

Ezra swung around.

“Tracy! You’re back!”

Crowley closed his mouth, stymied. Defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me during the long gap between chapters, everyone. I do actually have most of this story written, but I often end up staring at it and hating it, and then refusing to do any improvement on it for ages. So, that's how I ended up leaving this while I wrote "How my Light is Spent."  
> BUT. I'm back now, and hopefully this chapter will tide y'all over for a bit. Thanks again!

* * *

Outside, rain began to pitter-patter on the windows, the sky turning grey, matching Crowley’s rapidly darkening mood. 

Ezra had shot up from the table like an excited puppy the moment the woman - Tracy, was it? - approached. Presently they were wrapped up in a fierce embrace, giggling and pecking each others’ cheeks in between joyful exclamations.

“Oh, love, I have _missed_ you - watch my coffee-!”

“You look amazing - goodness, your _tan!”_

“I know! Won’t last long back here, though, will it…” Tracy untangled her spangled cardigan from Ezra’s waistcoat buttons and drew herself up straight. She held a mocha in one hand, the straps of an embellished handbag nestled in the crook of her opposite arm. 

Seemingly for the first time, her eyes fell on Crowley. He grimaced to see clear recognition flash across her face. 

“Friend of yours, love?” 

_Thank fuck for that._ He relaxed just a little.

“Oh! How rude of me.” Ezra turned to Crowley, beaming at him. “Tracy, darling, this is Anthony. Anthony,Tracy.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Tracy said, holding out a hand. Crowley slipped from his seat and took the hand in his own. She looked to be of middling age, older than Crowley, with a bit too much makeup sitting in the lines on her face and a perfume that was damn strong, but her cardigan was beyond gorgeous, her eyes gentle, her smile warm and genuine. She’d known who he was, and not made his presence obvious to everyone around them. He knew, grudgingly, that he was going to end up liking her. 

He clasped her outstretched hand - soft fingers, just like Ezra - and lifted it to kiss. 

Tracy broke into giggles. “Ooh, yes, consider me well and truly charmed!”

“Tracy, really,” Ezra sighed. 

“Joining us, Tracy?” Crowley ventured. _Please say you’re just stopping by._

“Well, if I’m not being a bother…”

“You’re not.” _You bloody well are._

She flashed her dazzling smile at Crowley. “Alright then. Thanks, love.” And she gave Ezra a push, back towards his seat, then slipped in beside him. Straight away, they were nattering together, and there went the last shreds of Crowley’s courage, along with what remained of his mood. 

Tracy had been away for some time, it seemed, holidaying abroad, and they had a lot of catching up to do. Crowley couldn’t deny them that. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and felt his mouth twist behind his mug. He’d never seen Ezra so relaxed without a bottle of wine in him. He leaned towards Tracy, hanging on her every word, always touching her hand and smiling. The sinking pit in Crowley’s stomach deepened as he watched them so blissful in their comfort, hating himself for wanting to hoard Ezra like some deranged, people-snatching dragon.

“Honestly, love, a famous friend, and you never told me!” Tracy was admonishing Ezra.

“How was I supposed to tell you? You’ve been travelling Asia for the last, what, year and a half?”

“I _do_ have a mobile.”

“And nowhere to charge it, clearly.”

“You snarky bloody queen!” Tracy nudged him and they both burst out into giggles. It wasn’t sodding _fair,_ that she could touch Ezra so much. 

As if reading Crowley’s thoughts, Ezra looked over at him, eyes softening, and reached across the table to touch Crowley’s hand. Just a subtle brush of fingers over his knuckles, but it was enough to send Crowley’s brain spiralling again, as if he hadn’t just fucking _held his hand five minutes ago, get it together, man!_

“Sorry, Anthony, dear. I feel we’ve rather left you out of the conversation.” Ezra sounded a little guilty. “Is everything alright?”

“Ngk. Uh-” Crowley shook his head and pushed his glasses up again. Tracy was looking rather fixedly at their hands; he pulled his back hurriedly and grabbed his coffee. “Yeah. M’fine. Just listening. Like an old married couple, the both of you. S’funny.”

 _“Oooh!”_ Ezra and Tracy chorused, looking at each other and laughing again. “Do we give off a vibe of holy matrimony, Tracy?” Ezra asked.

“To the untrained eye, maybe, but really - potentially losing my lover under a pile of books? No, thank you! Mr S and his bloody newspapers are bad enough - tied the knot a few years back now,” she added to Crowley, “when it came time to retire, settle down a bit.” She held her thumb and index finger together, mouth quirking up in a smirk. “Just a bit, though. Can’t keep an old girl down.”

Crowley’s curiosity was piqued. “Retirement, eh? What was your business?”

“A mix, really,” she replied, stirring her mocha pensively. “Started out in lad’s clubs - that’s where I met our Ezra-”

“Tracy!” Ezra hissed. _Oh, that_ is _an interesting bit of knowledge._

“- moved up to intimate personal relaxation for the discerning gentleman, and it’s mostly fortune telling these days. My knees aren’t what they were...takes me half an hour to squeeze into the leather-” she trailed off and frowned. “Oh, AJ, love, you’re spilling coffee on yourself.” A tissue pulled from the recesses of Tracy’s handbag floated down onto Crowley’s now rather damp thighs. 

He didn’t move, frozen in his seat. 

“Oh, no. I’ve gone all TMI on a stranger again, haven’t I, Ezra.”

“I think you broke him,” Ezra whispered.

The voice of an angel snapped Crowley back into a reasonable sense of cognition and he righted his mug, then set it down in favour of dabbing at his crotch with the tissue. “That’s an impressive history.” Forget liking her, he fucking loved her. The dull grey cloud over his mood started to slowly drift away. 

Tracy preened, giving a rather Ezra-like wiggle. “Ooh, compliments from the handsome AJ Crowley. I’ve gone all tingly.” 

“Tracy, really, you’re old enough to be his mother,” Ezra sighed into his tea.

“Can’t keep an old girl down, eh?” grinned Crowley. Tracy pressed her fingers to her wide, giggling smile; Crowley felt his cheeks plump further as his own smile widened, and even Ezra’s disapproving glare faded between them. 

In between pleasant chatter, laughter, and a constant internal litany of _Ezra in a strip club oh my god,_ Crowley’s phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, he groaned to see his sister’s name on the screen. “Sorry,” he said, “I’d better take this.” He glugged the last of his coffee, then put the phone to his ear. “Yeah, what’s up?”

_“AJ! I’m at your place. Where are you?”_

“I’m out with - hang on, why do you have a key to my - you know what, just wait there, I won’t be long.” He put the phone down. “Ugh.” Looking up into Ezra’s questioning face, he elaborated, “That was my sister. I need to go, I’m really sorry. Make it up to you, angel?”

Ezra smiled. “Don’t worry about me, darling. Go find your sister.”

“Cheers. I’ll text you, yeah? Nice meeting you, Tracy.” Crowley planted a quick kiss to her cheek, winked at Ezra, and shot out the door towards the Bentley.

* * *

“I wanted to find out if it was true.” Dana stretched out along the length of Crowley’s sofa as if she owned the place. At least she’d had the sense to take her boots off. 

“If _what_ was true?” Crowley, leaning in the doorway, folded his arms and scowled.

“If Mum had really told you to settle down.”

“That’s none of your business, Dana.”

She smiled a sharp-toothed smile. “Are you forgetting where I work? Everything is my business, AJ.” Those words were spoken so often they might as well have been the Crowley family’s (or rather, BC Media’s) unofficial slogan.

As far as siblings went, Dana was one of the better ones. She was as nosey and micromanaging as the rest of the family, but growing up, she had always had time for her little brother, and he owed her a grudging affection for that. She was no beauty, with her dull, grey eyes and hair that looked like its own personal oil slick, but she was clever, and cunning, and knew her way around the world they had been forced to grow up in, so in that respect, she was useful to have around. Crowley didn’t mind her dropping by, he just wished he knew how the fuck she’d gotten hold of a key to his flat.

She kept staring at him, wild eyebrows raised, blinking slowly. Eventually Crowley growled in resignation and moved to sit down, shoving her feet over to make room. “Yeah,” he said. “Mum pretty much ordered me. You know how she gets.”

“Are you gonna do it?”

“Am I fuck,” he snorted.

"She won't be happy."

Crowley shrugged. "She's never happy. Anyway, what's she gonna do? Cut me off? I'm the prettiest face in the family."

"She _could_ cut you off and you know it."

"Let her. I'm past caring, Dana."

She frowned at him. "Risky business."

"Look, all she wants is publicity. Not hard to make that happen. Had no trouble with that when we were younger."

"AJ, that was _not_ the sort of publicity to benefit _anyone."_

He shrugged. "Worked, didn't it?" Ah, those were the days, blazing through school and university with smoke in his lungs and head in the clouds, drifting from passion to passion, sleeping the days away and lighting up the party scene at night. How he'd still graduated with a First was beyond him. 

"You were a complete mess,” Dana interjected.

"Not far off in present times, to be fair," Crowley winked at her. 

"Look, you do anything stupid, and it's _me_ who it goes through before publishing. I had enough of proofreading your drug-addled escapades years ago, AJ; don't start it all up again, not when you've got Adam to care for now. Whether you act out to spite Mum or not, it won't ever come back to her, just you." Dana raised her hand and glanced at her watch. “I should head back to the office. Sorry to drag you back home, but I just had to be sure.”

_Just had to stick your nose in, more like. You could have just asked me over the fucking phone._

“Stay out of trouble, yeah? For me?"

Crowley remained sitting as Dana let herself out. He sagged against the back of the sofa once she was gone, jaw clenched. 

_Stay out of trouble..._ it was always about the family's image, never any thought about what _he_ wanted. Mind you, they'd never cared about that. Why would they start now?

Mother dearest didn't care _who_ he got involved with, just so long as they made for some good publicity. Crowley’s mind wandered back to Ezra, wondering how he would have reacted, had Crowley managed to ask him to dinner. No interruptions, no botched courage, no getting drunk to get the words out. Just plain and simple - _“Ezra. Angel. Would you like to get dinner with me sometime?”_

Oh, the man would blush and stammer and wring his hands, all embarrassed, but he'd say yes, never one to turn down good food...then afterwards he would let Crowley down gently, of course he would, he was too kind to indulge Crowley's stupid fantasies, too important to consider using him like that. 

Crowley balled his hands into fists, huffing out an exasperated breath through his nose.

He _wanted_ Ezra. Wanted him so much his chest ached to admit it. He’d thought of little else from the moment they met. All those demure smiles, soft giggles, gentle touches and all that fucking _kindness..._ if angels walked the earth then Ezra was their leader, a benevolent force of love exuding from a corporation wrapped up in a tartan bowtie, and Crowley loved that love, longed desperately for it.

It hurt that the heart wanted what it could not have.

A distraction, that’s what he needed.

 _I need some downtime._ And with that, Crowley pulled out his phone to text Anathema.

_"Can you watch Adam tonight?"_

The reply came a minute later, _"Sure thing."_

_"Don't expect me back till morning."_

Later, once Adam was tucked up in bed, and Anathema cosy on the couch with her witchy books and a thermos of nettle tea, Crowley set off to let his hair down - metaphorically speaking, as he had straightened out his curls and twisted them into a chic side braid for the night. If a spot of polish made its way onto his nails, or a hint of highlight to his cheekbones, well, that was for the press to speculate in between their wonderings of how he fit into those sinfully tight jeans. (Hint - a lot of liquid talc.)

He fully intended to slam down shots like there was no tomorrow, possibly inhale something he shouldn't, but most of all, he intended to scope out who might be up for a drunken fumble. 

At his third club, his vision was just about beginning to blur. He bumped into a woman as he slid up to the bar, muttering a low, “fuck, sorry,” as he righted himself. “You okay?” he asked once steady.

“Yeah, fine, don’t worry,” she laughed - then stopped and frowned. “Hey, are you...you’re Dr Crowley, right?”

Crowley blinked, taken slightly aback. “Uh. Y-Yeah. I mean, that’s me.” Nobody ever used his title anymore; hearing it again was like a breath of fresh air combined with a swift kick in the balls. “Do we...do I know you?”

“Nah, I’m just a bit of a fangirl,” the woman smiled. “My dad used to work at CERN before he retired. I’ve read all your papers and everything.”

“Have you now?” He leaned on the bar, eyebrows quirked behind his sunglasses. She looked his type as far as cis girls went; a few years younger than him, with brightly-coloured, pixie-crop hair and a wicked playfulness in her eyes. “You here on your own?”

“Yeah, my housemates are all away for the weekend.”

Crowley knocked his knuckles against hers gently, smiling. “I’m by myself, as well.”

“O-Oh.” She gave a nervous giggle. “Then I...I don’t suppose I could buy you a drink?”

“Sure, if I can get the next round.”

She wasn’t lying, it turned out; she really had read all of Crowley’s papers. They sat together at the bar for well over two hours, slamming down shots, debating the finer points of Crowley’s 2002 dissertation, pulling apart his research methods, slamming down more shots. It was like giving a lecture with all the students on crack, or at the very least, copious amounts of Jagermeister. Crowley ended up leaning against her more often than not, laughing hysterically as she gestured and shot down his arguments in a very Ezra-like manner.

Eventually, though, she began fiddling inside her handbag. “I’m gonna nip out for a smoke. Coming with?”

“Uh, sure.” 

He didn’t smoke often, but there was something good happening here, so he followed, and they sat together behind the club, passing a roll-up back and forth, heads nudging together. The nicotine in his bloodstream made his head spin, and he felt dizzy in the best way, the way he liked when he wanted to forget it all.

“You’re a sweet girl,” he murmured, brushing his cold fingers up her arm. “Well. Not a girl. Woman. Girl’s a bit insulting. Sorry.”

She giggled into the cuff of her jacket sleeve. Their faces were inching steadily closer. “I had no idea the famous Dr Crowley was so awkward.”

“Cazz.”

“Yeah?”

“Call me AJ tonight.”

And then they were kissing needily, grasping at each other, the shared roll-up forgotten, and _yes, this,_ oh, it was just what he needed, to let out all the suppressed emotions, let them go with a bang, enjoy the sensation alongside another willing party. Cazz was certainly willing; half an hour later they were at her house, in her bed, and given the racket they ended up making, Crowley had never been more thankful for an otherwise empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are in for another long and heavy boi of a chapter, so strap yourselves in - this is gonna hurt.
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter: mental breakdown, self-deprecation, survivor's guilt, childhood trauma, mention of Class A drugs, gun violence, description of past character death. 
> 
> There is a mention of baby Adam playing in blood near the end - I'm warning you now, in case that's too much for anyone.

* * *

He was supposed to be getting up. Carrying out his court-assigned role as Adam's guardian. He could hear the boy ambling around the kitchen, grabbing whatever he could reach for breakfast and chattering away to himself. He should have been doing it all for him. 

But here Crowley was, curled up in a ball on the floor of his bathroom, sweaty and shivering, as he had been for the last two hours, unable to move for the scent of blood in his nose and the screams in his ears; nightmares that, increasingly, were haunting his waking hours as well as disrupting his sleep. 

_ Come on. Get up, you useless son of a bitch.  _ Crowley only curled in tighter and whimpered. He felt sick, wanted to vomit, but he'd already vomited so many times that his throat and belly felt raw.

_ Some parent you are. _

A knock sounded at the closed bathroom door. "Uncle AJ? Are you in there?" came Adam's ever-curious voice. Crowley inhaled sharply and closed his eyes tightly, needing him to go away, not wanting him to see the pathetic state he was in. 

Adam knocked again. "Uncle AJ? I can hear you. Are you okay…?"

Crowley clutched the back of his head, nails digging in hard enough to hurt. A good pain. Pain he deserved. 

"F...Fine," he finally choked, voice rasping in his abused throat. 

Pause. Then Adam was walking away, bare feet padding softly on the carpet. Crowley yanked at his hair and fought back furious tears, willing himself to  _ get the fuck up and do your job. _

He couldn't do it. The ringing screams only grew louder when he tried. It was easier to stay put. On the ground. Just where  _ he  _ had ended up, too. 

The flat had grown silent. Maybe Adam had taken himself to school? No, it was too far away to walk.  _ Go and check he's safe!  _

Then footsteps up to the door again. Duller, heavier. The door opened slowly, and the next thing Crowley knew, Ezra was kneeling beside him, looking stricken.

_ This can't be real. Don't let this be real, don't let him see me like this - _

"Oh, my darling."

Crowley dared to glance up into Ezra's plump face, his gorgeous eyes. Such genuine emotion shone in their depths, the willingness to help, to do the right thing, and all for a whimpering sack of crap like Crowley. It was more than he deserved. It didn't stop him from clawing his way into Ezra's arms and clinging to him as he burst into a torrent of tears. 

"Come now...there we are, hold onto me...it's alright." Ezra cradled him, voice soothing, hands stroking Crowley's hair and down his back as he rocked them back and forth. "I'm here, darling. You're safe. It's only me."

"A-Adam-"

"At school. He's a very clever and responsible boy, calling me when he did. I came over straight away...oh, you poor thing…" Somehow Crowley had ended up in the man's lap, too upset to be embarrassed, arms tight around Ezra's neck and sobbing like a fool into his hair. Ezra's hands were cool on his sweat-slick skin, a healing balm working into the tension of his back and shoulders. 

"What can I do for you?" Ezra asked softly, but Crowley shook his head, overwhelmed, and pulled himself in closer. Ezra made a quiet noise of understanding. "Right, then. Hold on tight, my dear - up we go."

Suddenly Crowley was being hoisted into the air on a display of effortless strength. He yelped and squirmed, surprise momentarily taking over from his mental crash. Ezra only chuckled in response as he carried Crowley out of the bathroom, making for his bed. 

He gently deposited a sniffling Crowley onto the mattress amidst a disaster of sheets thrown off mid-nightmare, pulling them back into place and tucking them over Crowley's legs. Had Crowley been aware of himself enough, he might have died of shame, at Ezra seeing him in his most unflattering boxer shorts - instead, the screams quietened, until all that remained was the impassioned moaning of his inner demon -  _ fuuuuuuuck, he's hot!  _

What could he say? Strong men in rolled-up shirtsleeves made him swoon. 

Ezra sat down on the bed beside him, cross-legged and anxious. He had taken off his shoes, revealing stupid argyle socks. Crowley instantly loved them and wanted a pair for himself. Through the mess of tears still fighting to escape his eyes, he looked up to Ezra, taking in his worried face. He looked to need reassurance in that moment more so than Crowley did. He was a mess, there was little to be done about that, but Ezra, he could be fixed up here and now. Wordlessly, they reached out to each other, hands intertwining and Crowley's head coming to rest on Ezra's shoulder. Almost instantly Crowley felt Ezra begin to relax against him.

"I know you're struggling to put your words together right now, so don't force it, alright? I'll wait for you. As long as you need."

Crowley could have kissed him. He settled for a weak nod and managed to smile when he felt Ezra's satisfied hum deep in his chest. 

They sat together quietly, Ezra running his free hand up and down Crowley's arm, a light tickle that sent the best crackles of tingling comfort down his spine. He'd sit there and be stroked forever if he could. Gradually the tightness in his chest loosened, the fear pounding through his veins slowed, and capacity to speak returned.

"Sorry I'm such a mess right now," he mumbled into Ezra's shoulder.

Ezra huffed. "You have nothing to apologise for, dear boy."

"Adam, he...he shouldn't have to...to know I'm like this."

"Has he ever seen you this upset?"

Crowley shook his head. "Usually mild enough I can hide it. Today's just...one of the days I can't."

"I have noticed your mood fluctuating a lot lately. Your wellbeing in general, really. You're tired all the time, and, forgive me, dear, but I noticed more than the usual number of wine bottles in the recycling..." Ezra tucked some hair behind Crowley's ear and smoothed it into place. "Has something happened?"

_ Apart from throwing myself at whoever'll fuck me because I can't have you and I can't deal with that?  _ In fairness, it had only been the once, but he'd felt awful about it afterwards, and even more so once he found out he'd been papped kissing Cazz outside the club. 

There was no way Ezra wouldn't have seen the photos in the paper, but Crowley had spent the following day in bed, sick to the stomach with a debilitating hangover, and hadn't spoken to him to gauge his reaction.

"Anthony?" 

Crowley shook his head, refocusing. "Um. Right. Well, um. Sounds stupid, but...it's family. My mum, specifically. She's putting pressure on me. To, uh. Settle down. And it's stressing me out to fuck."

There was a pause. Then a quiet, "ah," from Ezra, as if he immediately understood the previous week's antics. Perhaps he did. Crowley was never going to be brave enough to ask him. "I take it her request-"

"More like  _ demand-" _

"-isn't acceptable to you?"

"No - I don't want to - to -"  _ Not unless it's you. I'd give up wine and cut my hair short and find a sudden love of tartan if it meant I could be with you. Fuck, Ezra, my heart aches for you, and I'm never going to tell you, because you're perfect, and I would break you beyond repair.  _ "- But Mum rules my life, angel - I can't say no to her. She's...she…"

"I understand," said Ezra softly, "just a little, anyway. Mothers are one of a kind...no matter what."

"Yeah. Mum is definitely one of a kind. She raised all of us alone, never wanted anyone else. D'you know we've all got different dads? 'Cept me and Lucif-  _ Lucien."  _ Fuck was it hard to stop doing that.

"I did not know that," replied Ezra. Crowley's hip was beginning to ache from leaning awkwardly, so he readjusted, pulling back a touch and lying on his side, head propped up on a bent elbow. He expected Ezra to remain sitting prim and pretty, but he was surprised when the man mirrored him, albeit remaining above the covers. 

They were face to face now, just a few inches between them, practically sharing their breath. Ezra reached out to touch Crowley's free hand, their fingers linking again. "Your brother...he's Adam's father, isn't he? I never hear you talk favourably about him. Your other siblings, yes, but Lucien…may I ask a question of you, darling?" 

Crowley gave a curt nod. 

"Why do you hate him so?"

Crowley closed his eyes. Red swam before them, the scent of blood heavy on the air once again, but Ezra squeezed his hand and he managed to take a few deep breaths, steadying himself despite the pounding panic in his chest.

"Lucien wasn't...he wasn't a good man. He held charity events at his nightclub, and smiled a lot, and pretended to give a shit so everyone would think he was great, but it was all smoke and mirrors. He loved to make the world look a fool, and to make himself feel powerful." 

The words tasted bitter, laced with the venom borne of decades of fear and pain. Crowley shifted against the bedclothes and felt Ezra squeeze his hand again, thumb rubbing the bony point of his wrist. 

"He hated me with some vengeance I've never been able to understand. When I was a baby he tried to smother me, and blamed it on a blanket tucked around me too loosely. When I was four he locked me in a cupboard and left me there for hours while our nanny slept on the other side of the house. The day before I started secondary school he held me down and sheared off my hair, so I'd "look like a real man."" Ezra sucked in a sharp breath at that, colour flaring to his cheeks in obvious fury. 

"I was blamed for all of it, of course. Mum's golden boy could have destroyed the world and she'd have thanked him for the front row seat. My brother was a monster, Ezra - from the moment I was born until the day he was murdered in his own home, and the world is a better place for it. That is why I hate him so."

The words tasted bitter, laced with the venom borne of decades of fear and pain, and yet, with every sentence uttered, Crowley felt the heavy weight of repression lifting, lightening his burden, clearing his mind. Perhaps Dana's suggestion of a therapist hadn't been a bad one, if only he had accepted the offer. But what right did some stranger have to be privy to his darkest moments? To sit there and judge him while he relived his terrors over and over? At least Dana had been supportive, in her own way; she'd encouraged him to seek help. His brothers recommended he man the fuck up. As for his mother, she didn't say anything at all. He'd never seen her cry, wondered if she even had it in her. 

Yet here Ezra lay beside him, holding his hand and listening quietly, no judgement in his gaze. He didn't have to be here, having to hear the distress of another man's life. He could have taken Adam to school and then left straight away, but he stayed. He stayed, refusing to leave Crowley's side, messed up, adoring creature though he was, and Crowley wondered if he could ever love Ezra more than he did at that very moment. 

Tears rose once more to his eyes; Ezra scooted closer and wiped his cheeks, murmuring softly, drew Crowley to his chest and wrapped strong arms around him. Safe. Cared for. Crowley's guardian angel.

"I'm so sorry, darling," whispered Ezra. "I can't even begin to imagine what you've been through."

Crowley shook his head, burying his face further into Ezra's warmth. "'M not done," he muttered. There was so much more he needed to say, lest he collapse under the strain of holding it close a second longer. Now he'd started, how could he ever stop?

* * *

"I left Manchester because I wasn't coping at work, not taking care of myself at home." 

Crowley had gathered enough wits about him to get dressed. Excusing himself politely, Ezra had made tea, and they sat again on the bed, lights dimmed and steaming mugs clutched in needy hands. Crowley sipped his too-sweet drink, ignoring the burn in the back of his throat, and leaned back against the headboard with a deep sigh.

"My students were worrying about me," he continued. "I'd started getting depressed and snappy, and I couldn't pull myself out of it. The Dean said I should take a sabbatical, and Mum suggested I come back to London for a bit, so I did. Change of scenery and all that; I'd moved up north at fifteen, see, and hadn't seen her in years. Figured the time I spent away might have improved things between us." He felt his mouth twist in an involuntary grimace. "It hadn't, of course. I left London  _ because _ of my family; nothing was ever going to change."

Ezra made a low humming noise. "Blood is thicker than water, they say. The expectation to love our family unconditionally is harsh...not without its faults." His eyes remained intently on Crowley, an understanding there, an empathy that pained Crowley to his very core. 

"Anyway. Mum kept me busy, tried to stop me going off the rails. That's when I started being better known as a socialite than an astrophysicist. I know people find me attractive, and I'm vain as fuck, and having me out on the red carpet was raking in attention for Mum and the family." Crowley paused for another sip of sickly sweet tea. "Mostly, though," he said, wiping his mouth, "I stuck by Lucien's side. I was living with him at the time, while I fussed over finding my own place. He hadn't changed, either, 'cept he'd gotten better at gaslighting the fuck out of us all. Kept my hair intact this time round, at least, but I came to see my brother in an entirely different light over those next few years."

"How so?" Ezra's mug remained untouched in his slightly shaking hands. 

"Lucien was always the big boss. The head honcho. All-powerful and rich and mighty, all that jazz. Nobody ever looked a bit deeper to see what was underneath it all. I saw it, though, in the time I spent under his wing. All his debts, his gambling, turf wars, a cocaine addiction enough to fell a giant, even. Lucien was broken, too; a nervous wreck fighting to stay alive…" Crowley's eyes slipped closed. "Just as I was. As I am. He was good at hiding it from the family. But I'd been away long enough that I could see it plain as day."

"Misery loves company?" offered Ezra.

"Exactly," replied Crowley, clicking his fingers in morbid amusement. "Good at sniffing out fellow broken things, we are."

"How did that make you feel, darling?"

Crowley thought for a moment. Now that  _ was  _ a question he'd never really considered.  _ How did that make you feel?  _ Honestly, not much. He'd learned to numb himself to Lucien's bollocks over time - if only that one bit in his brain that kept being triggered could do the same and stop calling him the Devil himself - but being called  _ darling  _ set off all sorts of happy fireworks in his belly and made him want to squirm, to blush, to grab Ezra's face and smooch his delicious lips - 

Back on track, you horny bastard.

"I think," he sighed, "I probably wanted to save him. Might've had this stupid, fucked-up idea in my head that this was what I'd really returned for - to put my brother back on the right path, a place I couldn't walk myself, but maybe I could do it for him. He tormented me my whole life, scared me half to death, but he was still my brother. He was a  _ father.  _ I had a  _ nephew  _ now, and I damn well wanted him to have his dad around like we never did growing up."

A strangled laugh burst from him before he could stifle it. "Stupid really, isn't it? Can't even look after myself, but there I was, running after my big brother like a fucking nanny, hoping he'd change. Only he -" and now his voice started quivering, " - only he went and got himself fucking sh-s- _ shot _ after screwing over one of his contacts, and guess who found the body, and a toddler playing happily in the pools of daddy's blood?" 

A horrified cry ripped itself from Ezra's throat, and yet the numbness was creeping back quicker than Crowley could grasp onto, quicker than he could start to care. His mug dropped from cold fingers, spilling freely, knees dampening against the mattress. 

"My whole fucking life is a living nightmare, angel - and it started long before Mum's demands. Where you found me, on the floor? You should've just left me there. That's all I've ever deserved, and if you've any wits left about you, you'll turn and walk away for good."

Was this catharsis? Surely, it was redemption - freeing the soul of one too pure to be tainted by his darkness. Tears welled, but no longer fell, frozen as they were in his eyes. A clatter of porcelain on wood, and fingers, warm,  _ so warm,  _ clamped around his cheeks and -

Ezra pressed their foreheads together, and numbness fled entirely.

_ "Never,"  _ Ezra whispered, chest heaving, "tell me to walk away from you. Don't you...don't you  _ fucking dare,  _ Anthony Crowley." Their faces were close enough for their noses to brush, for Crowley to feel the wetness of tears smearing between their cheeks.

"Why?" For a moment, he saw Ezra hesitate, felt the tension in his shoulders, and dared to reach up, to wrap frigid digits around soft wrists, holding tight and desperate. "Why do all this for me, angel?"

The tension subsided, and Ezra, sniffling, pulled back. He pressed a kiss to Crowley's brow, lingering there.

"I think we both know why."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some family fluff to offset the recent angst. I hope you enjoy meeting a character I've been wanting to write for a very long time!

Holiday season was well and truly upon the nation, streets bedecked in fairy lights, jingling bells on every TV advert. Sales of eggnog went through the roof, while shoppers squabbled over turkeys in the freezer aisle. 

For Crowley, it was business as usual - and on this Saturday morning in mid-December, that consisted of lounging on the sagging (yet so fucking comfortable) sofa in Ezra's living room, coffee in hand and Adam tucked into his side, watching Ezra bustle around with a notepad in hand, muttering to himself. 

"Looking for something, angel?"

Ezra looked up from his frantic scribbling. "Ah, I'm sorry," he sighed, tucking his pen behind his ear. "I get so flustered in the run-up to Hanukkah. There's so much I need to do…"

"What's left on the list?" Crowley gave Adam a tickle under his chin, smiling at his giddy squeal.

"Let's see." Ezra adjusted his reading glasses as he peered at the notepad. "Cleaning...lots of cleaning-"

Crowley laughed. "You don't clean. I don't think I've  _ ever _ seen you clean."

"It's true, he doesn't," piped up Warlock from his beanbag seat by the TV. 

"When you're all  _ quite _ done picking on me..." 

"Sorry, angel. What else?"

"No harm done, darling, I know what a joke is." Ezra winked at Crowley and he grinned behind his coffee cup. "So...the aforementioned cleaning...and then I must try and find the hanukkiah,  _ and  _ the Christmas tree,  _ and  _ all the decorations, and that's with the limited time off work that I have…it's so  _ exhausting  _ when both holidays are so close together..." He flipped the page over with a dramatic sigh. "Oh yes, and lots of food shopping. Still, at least I'll save on the electricity bill if my freezer is full to bursting…"

In Crowley's opinion, not giving a shit about holidays was the easiest way to go, but it was clear the whole thing was important to Ezra. Warlock had started shifting around in excitement when Christmas was mentioned, and even Adam was looking hopeful. Crowley drained his coffee and leaned forward to set it on a nearby table, pushing aside a few sheafs of paper and an old book. "Need a hand?" he offered. 

"Oh, no," Ezra immediately blustered, "I couldn't possibly-"

"Look, I'm here already, so you might as well take advantage of it."

Ezra looked conflicted. He put his notepad down and started wringing his hands. "Are you...are you sure?"

He was looking at Crowley like he would break, which was fair, now he'd seen Crowley at his lowest - but it had been a month since then, and he  _ still  _ had that pitying look in his eyes every time they were alone together, and Crowley hated it,  _ needed  _ to show Ezra he was capable of doing things. "'Course I'm sure," he cajoled. "We're friends, aren't we? Ya silly angel."

At that, Ezra softened and chuckled. "Well...I suppose it can't hurt to work together…"

"Can I help?" asked Adam. 

"Me too!" Warlock shouted.

"There you go," grinned Crowley, "your team is assembled!"

"I  _ will  _ be feeding you to show my gratitude, of course."

"Wouldn't expect anything less -" 

The tinny ringing of an old mobile went off somewhere in the flat, interrupting them. Crowley patted his pocket automatically. "That's yours, angel."

"Oh! So it is!" Ezra hurried off to fetch it. "...Sure it was under here…" Crowley heard him mutter, then, "there it is - hello, mum!"

Warlock's head jerked up. "Nana's on the phone!" he whispered delightedly.

"...Yes, of course...mmhm...vos tut zich? ...What?!" Ezra's voice suddenly became frantic. "What do you mean, you've - are you alright? No, you cannot expect me to -  _ mum!"  _

Frowning, Crowley slid off the sofa, motioning for Adam and Warlock to stay put as he ventured out to investigate. He found Ezra in the kitchen, pacing a trail into the floor and twisting the fingers of his free hand into his hair as he spoke a rapid-fire blurring of English and Yiddish into the phone. 

"Angel?" Crowley whispered, waving to catch his attention. 

Ezra held up a finger to him. "I'm coming over, stay where you are," he said sharply into the phone, then put it in his trouser pocket, slumped forwards with elbows on the counter, and groaned low in his throat. "Mum's had a fall," he muttered. 

"Shit. Is she okay?" Crowley came to stand beside him. He hovered a hand over Ezra's back, hesitating a moment, then placed his palm down gently between his shoulder blades. The tension there was hard like iron rods in his muscles; he tried to soothe it away with slow strokes of his thumb back and forth.

"She  _ says  _ she's fine, but I need to go and check on her." Ezra closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry, darling."

"Nothing to apologise for, angel," replied Crowley. 

"Oh, but we'll have to postpone the day's plans, and I feel dreadful about it…"

"You've gotta check on your mum, and she's more important than a bit of cleaning, ain't she? Right - " Crowley drew back after one last rub of Ezra's back, " - you find Warlock's car seat, I'll get the boys ready, and we'll set off."

Ezra blinked up at him. "What?"

"I'm driving you, you fool."

"You don't need to -"

_ "Angel." _

"...Fine."

* * *

Sofie Fell, as it turned out, was every bit as stubborn as her son. Even their pouts were identical - as much as Crowley managed to see before the whirling wrath of her son was upon her, anyway.

She had been pottering around the kitchen when they arrived, looking no worse for wear, and was immediately subject to a barrage of exasperated-sounding Yiddish from Ezra before he ushered her upstairs to check for any injuries. His telling-off continued, filtering through the floorboards as Crowley, trying his hardest not to cry with laughter, brought the boys through, whereupon Warlock immediately pulled Adam through to the back garden for a game of Tig. 

_ So this is where Ezra grew up.  _ Crowley wandered to the living room, casting his eyes around the layout, and thought he recognised a little of Ezra's style dotted throughout. There was even a tartan blanket on the sofa - although, to be fair, Ezra, being of the opinion that everybody needed a little tartan in their lives, might have given it to his mother as a gift. 

A set of slightly faded photos in round frames, hung on the wall above the mantelpiece, caught his attention. He inched closer and slipped his glasses off to take a closer look. 

The two teens in the first frame could only have been Michaela and Gabriel. They looked very much alike, Gabriel's hair darker and slicked back away from his face, while Michaela's chestnut locks tousled and curled above her brow, likely held in place with a sizable cloud of Aqua Net. Next in line, a beaming boy sporting a rather unfortunate bowl-cut who had to be Sandy. Below him on the wall was a sable-skinned toddler. She had box braids threaded with pink and silver beads, and a cheeky, gap-toothed grin - Uriel.

And next to Sandy…

_ Bloody hell. Some things never change. _

Young Ezra had been slimmer, and he'd owned a smattering of freckles over his nose that age and sunlight had since faded, but even as a child his curly hair shone like a halo, his eyes two twinkling blue stars, his smile a joy to the world (and Crowley's heart). In the old photo he wore a green button-up shirt and a cream knitted cardigan, and looked to be no more than ten years old. He was ridiculously cute…

Crowl was debating whether to snap a picture on his phone to show Ana later, when footsteps creaked on the stairs, and he thought better of it, turning around and sticking his hands in his pockets. 

In came Ezra, a wry smile on his face as he looked between Crowley and the photos, and put two and two together. "You owe me one of yourself now. It's only fair," he said, raising his eyebrows. 

"I have literally no nice pictures of me as a kid," Crowley bemoaned.

"Oh, and you think  _ that's  _ a nice picture of me?" laughed Ezra, jabbing his finger towards the wall.

"You looked cute!"

"I looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid!"

"You do not!"

"Sheifale!" called Mrs Fell from upstairs, interrupting the banter.

"Yes, mum?" 

"There's soup on the stove! Make sure you reheat it properly!"

Ezra huffed an amused laugh. "Typical Jewish mother, always feeding everyone."

"Is she okay?" Crowley asked, making a mental note to ask what "sheifale" meant later.

"Oh, yes. Just a bit of a bruise on her hip, but nothing broken or bleeding. She should be down again in a minute." Ezra seated himself on the sofa and wiggled into place; Crowley followed suit. Ezra dropped his voice as he leaned in and said, "Her memory, bless her - she's in her seventies now - her memory isn't what it used to be. Sometimes I worry she'll hurt herself badly and forget what happened, walk about and injure herself further. As you saw, though…" He swept a hand towards the stairs. "She'd rather I just eat my body weight in matzo balls and stop fussing over her. Where are the boys?"

"Playing out in the back. I made sure they weren't gonna trample the flowerbeds." 

The stairs creaked again, and Mrs Fell bustled in a few moments later, humming to herself. She was a handsome woman with olive-tinted skin and numerous smile lines etched into her face; she had the twins' dark brown eyes, Sandy's nose, and her hair, which fell to her bosom in loose, white-shot curls, was unmistakably Ezra's. Not surprisingly, she appeared a tad confused at the sight of a strange man in her living room, and turned to question Ezra. 

"Who's this?"

"Ah, yes. I should introduce you." Ezra got up from the sofa and went to stand beside his mother. They were of a similar height, and looked even more similar in appearance when side by side. Two peas in a pod.

"Mum, this is my dearest friend, Anthony. Our boys are in the same class at school. Anthony, darling, I present to you the most important woman in my life - my mamme, Sofie."

Crowley smiled shyly and got to his feet, head inclining respectfully. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Fell."

Mrs Fell nodded at him, then raised her eyebrows at Ezra. "Your oytser?"

"U-Um. Well…not exactly..."

She laughed and turned back to Crowley. "Come here, love," she said, holding out her hands. "Let's get a look at you." 

He took a few nervous steps towards her, his own hands shaking slightly. Something about mothers just terrified the living daylights out of him. Sofie Fell, though, was no Beatrice Crowley - that much was certain. 

Mrs Fell clasped his sweating palms in her own soft and gentle ones, held them firmly while she scrutinised his face. Crowley tried to keep his eyes on hers, but averted them quickly, wishing he'd put his glasses back on, concealing his vile, deformed pupils. Any moment now she would pull away in disgust, send him out - she was already dropping his hands -

And...patting his cheek?

"Yes, you'll certainly do," she said, smiling warmly. 

A tightness squeezed Crowley's heart, a sudden rush of affection for the woman. "I-I, uh...really?"

"Of course," she laughed. "Any friend of Ezra's is mishpacha, as far as I'm concerned." Suddenly she frowned at her son. "You didn't heat up the soup, did you?"

"Um, no, not yet-"

"Really now!" Mrs Fell swept away towards the kitchen, shaking her head. "We have  _ guests,  _ Ezra!"

"Mum, slow  _ down! _ " Ezra chased after her, Crowley following at a slower pace, enjoying the performance. "You'll fall over again!" 

"Nonsense! I only slipped on the bottom step! Now, you fetch those lovely boys from the garden, and Anthony, be a dear and set the table?"

"Uh, sure thing, Mrs Fell."

She rounded on him, wooden spoon in hand, and she pointed it at him emphatically. "We'll have none of that! Mrs Fell was my mother-in-law. You'll call me Sofie, and I won't hear a word of argument about it. Okay, love?"

"Yes, ma'am." Crowley winked at her, tapping two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute. Sofie giggled at that, sounding remarkably like Ezra, and patted his cheek again before turning back to the stove. 

Twenty minutes later they were all clustered around the dining table. They had polished off the soup, mopping up the remains with a braided loaf of bread that Crowley thought was called challah, but Warlock called barkhes, and Sofie had ruffled his hair and praised his pronunciation. Now they were finishing a platter of cold cuts and salad, while Warlock and Adam regaled them all with their grand tales of the Heroic Adventures of Tig. 

"-nearly won the third one," Adam was telling Sofie as she topped up his glass of juice, "but uncle Ezra called us back in, so - "

_ Uncle?! _ Crowley's swig of coffee suddenly decided it would rather settle in his lungs. He muffled his sudden choking and spluttering in the crook of his elbow and tried to pass it off as a mere cough. 

"Are you alright, darling?" Ezra asked, reaching for and rubbing his shoulder.

"Y-Yeah." Crowley took a frantic gulp of air. "Yeah, 'm fine." 

Sofie leaned towards Ezra, tapped his hand, and whispered in his ear. A moment later he went bright red and spluttered in a mirror image of Crowley. "So," she said, quickly turning to Crowley, "do you have plans for the holidays, love?"

"Er. Not really," Crowley shrugged. "S'not exactly my thing, all this decking the halls rubbish. Was gonna help Ezra dig out all his Christmas and Hanukkah stuff today, though."

"Until  _ someone  _ declined to act her age," Ezra groused into his pastrami. 

Sofie ignored him and remained focused on Crowley. "I get it, love. Two holidays so close together gets exhausting sometimes. I think you'd like Hanukkah, though. Less capitalism, more family time, and that's  _ without _ mentioning the latkes, of course."

"What's latkes?" Crowley frowned at Ezra.

"Fried potato pancakes," Ezra replied. "They're delightfully unhealthy and just as delicious; a staple at Hannukah." Crowley gave an appreciative hum, liking the sound of those very much. 

"I'm sure Ezra would love to have you for the holidays," Sofie piped up. "Wouldn't you, sweet sheifale?"

Ezra's fork slipped from his fingers. 

"U-Um. I. Well. That hasn't been discussed as such, mum. Only that Anthony would help me get everything ready. I'm sure he wouldn't want to hear my atrocious attempts at Hebrew singing."

_ Singing?  _ Crowley sat up a little straighter in his chair. "I'd listen to that."

"No," Ezra stammered, his cheeks flaring again. "No, absolutely not. I couldn't - and I don't - the space - you know how tiny my flat is -"

"So stay at mine," Crowley shrugged. "Boys'd love it. We'll make the place nice, get some decorations in or something, make those pancake thingies...whaddya think, kiddo?" He nudged Adam with his elbow to get his attention, "Hanukkah and Christmas with the Crowleys?"

"Okay, but what's a han-oo-ker?" Adam frowned, while Warlock squealed with excitement beside him, bouncing up and down in his chair. 

"There you have it, angel. You can't say no. We're having the holidays at mine this year." 

_ What the fuck is wrong with me. I hate holidays. I literally just said I hate holidays less than five minutes ago. Why am I like this? _

Ezra glared at his mother. "This is all your fault. You are a  _ menace." _

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Sofie replied primly. She got up from the table and began clearing empty plates away - and when she came to Crowley, he could have sworn she winked at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Crowley - "sheifale" is a Yiddish endearment, meaning "lamb."
> 
> The other Yiddish words or phrases used here were:
> 
> Vos tut zich? - "what's happening?" or, more loosely, "how are you?"  
> Mamme - "mother"  
> Oytser - another endearment, meaning "treasure"  
> Mishpacha - "family"  
> Challah/Barkhes - a braided bread loaf typically eaten during ceremonial occasions such as Shabbat.
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, listen. I've no excuses for how sodding long it's taken me to put this up. This shit is why I don't really do Big Bangs or anything lmao
> 
> Anyway, have some fluffy feels!

Christmas in Crowley's flat had been nonexistent the whole time he'd lived there. Before Adam came to live with him, _he_ didn't exactly live there. He came back to sleep, and occasionally eat; otherwise he was wherever his mother told him to be, and prior to that, whiling away the hours in his office, marking exam papers, glugging coffee, and chucking tennis balls at walls - proper professor stuff, naturally. He probably still had some debt to pay for denting the plaster. Whoops. Sucked to be whoever replaced him.

But now there were decorations up, and the scent of cinnamon in the air, and a _fucking tree._ Crowley glared at it every time he walked past, but couldn't quite bring himself to hate it. How could he? He'd suggested the whole blessed thing, hadn't he?

Adam, though - he'd been over the moon, almost falling over himself in his excitement about decorating the explosion of sweet-smelling branches. He and Warlock "prettied up" one third of the tree, which Ezra later discreetly turned to face the wall, winking at Crowley as he did so. Together they decorated the rest. And that wasn't even the _end_ of it, nope; there were fairy lights strung up around doorways, and glittery snowflakes on the windows, and Adam and Warlock stuck cotton wool on a long strip of paper and put it atop the fireplace like a snow scene, then made snowmen out of salt dough and baked them in Ezra's oven before painting them in atrocious splotches of colour.

Oh, he tried _so hard_ to sneer at it all, but...

The flat had never looked brighter, more lived-in. More like a home. A place for children, for _family,_ to grow in peace and happiness. 

And come December 22nd, when the first evening of Hanukkah came around, the air rang with childrens' laughter, spluttered with the sizzle of frying potato and the scent of oil as Ezra showed Crowley how to make traditional latkes. Warlock introduced Adam to the dreidel game, and in its aftermath the lounge was littered with crumpled bits of gold foil from their gorging on gelt, and then, if that wasn’t enough sugar-fuelled giddiness to be dealing with, of course they had advent calendars too, and it was only by some divine miracle that neither of them were sick - much.

Crowley let everything wash over him, resplendent, floating on a cloud of familial bliss. Had Mother had her way, he’d be skulking in a corner at the office, glowering at his siblings, causing his favourite kind of low-grade chaos while drinking as much expensive wine as he could get away with without finding himself a mess in tomorrow’s headlines. Still, he might have scoffed at the idea of a domestic shut-in, all cosy Christmas jumpers and tranquility. 

Till now. Till he knew how fucking _happy_ such a scene could make him. 

He and Ezra were in the kitchen, plating up latkes and sufganiyot, when a tinny beep made Ezra pause, smile, and glance down at his watch.

"Sundown," he murmured, and reached for a tea towel to wipe his hands. "It's time, my dear. Ready to hear my atrocious attempts at Hebrew?" 

Crowley gestured for the tea towel, snagging a corner of it for himself. "I promise not to make _too_ much fun of you for it afterwards."

Ezra flicked the cloth in Crowley's face, sending a spray of leftover potato into his hair. "You're a menace," he groused, and turned on his heel.

"A menace who bought you an obscenely expensive menorah!” Crowley breezed past Ezra with a wink and a shit-eating grin to clap him on the shoulder. "Like it or lump it, angel." 

Ana was spending the holidays with Newt and her family, so it was just the four of them, the boys and their guardians. They gathered in the lounge, a loose semi-circle around the window. A silver menorah sat on the sill, ready to be lit. Crowley had found it in an antiques dealership that specialised in religious trinkets and iconography, and of course Ezra had always been welcome to bring his own menorah ("the _proper_ term is "hanukkiah," but at this point it's semantics, my dear, so call it what you wish so long as it's respectful!") over to the flat, but the magnificent, slightly tarnished lamp at the dealership had been so perfect that Crowley couldn't _not_ buy it, desperate magpie for his angel that he was.

(Ezra had, of course, shed a tear or two upon first seeing it.)

Ezra held a lit candle in his hand. "The shamash," he explained softly to Crowley and Adam, as he directed the flame to the wick of the rightmost candle - the only other one there.

"Er, where're the rest of them?" Crowley whispered.

"Shh!" Adam hissed back, and Crowley quickly shut his mouth, just as Ezra's opened again, and he began to sing in a gentle, lilting, downright _beautiful_ Hebrew:

_"Baruch atah Adonai,_

_Eloheinu Melech ha'olam,_

_Asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav_

_V_ _’tsivanu l’hadlik ner_

 _S_ _hel Hanukkah,"_

That was it, Crowley was captivated, well and truly; let it be known that his headstone shall be inscribed with “ _Death by Glorious Tenor.”_ He gripped Adam's hand, suddenly quite overcome with tightness in his chest.

_"Baruch atah Adonai,_

_Eloheinu Melech ha'olam,_

_S_ _he-asah nisim la’avoteinu,_

_Bayamim hahem,_

_Bazman hazeh,"_

The meaning of the song escaped Crowley's gentile mind, the words unknown to his ears, and yet, there was such emotion, such love and praise held in the beauty of Ezra's song, that the knowledge might never have been necessary.

_"Baruch atah Adonai,_

_Eloheinu Melech ha’olam,_

_Shehecheyanu,_

_V’kiyimanu,_

_V’higiyanu,_

_Lazman hazeh."_

This was a special moment for Ezra, and by extension, everybody around him, and to simply share in that moment spoke of more than a translation ever could. Crowley’s heart swelled for the sweetness of Ezra's voice, for the joy of spending this time with a whole new family of his own building, for the wilful breaking down of the barriers that had protected him for so long, and he _relished_ it, revelled in it as he had never done before. 

Above all, for the first time in what might have been forever, he felt safe. 

Ezra’s song died away with a long, relieved-sounding sigh. He turned to face his crowd, eyes averted and cheeks glowing pink in obvious and adorable embarrassment.

"Did I...did I do okay?" 

Crowley smiled wide - how could he not? - and gathered Ezra in his arms. The man let out a blissful sigh and nestled his softness close. "Passable. Reckon I coulda belted that out myself, no trouble. Just call me Leonard Cohen."

"You insufferable serpent," Ezra laughed, patting Warlock's head as he wedged himself between their bodies, arms wrapping around Ezra's leg.

"It was wonderful, angel. Hebrew sounded top-notch."

"Oh, I _am_ glad. I worry, you know - Yiddish comes to me much easier, and, well, Hebrew is quite sacred and I’d hate to mess it up-”

Crowley stroked his hand absently through Ezra's curls. “You did fine. Trust me. I'll even tell your mum you get a 10/10 from the handsome teacher fellow, eh?” Barely registering his own actions, Crowley quickly became very much aware that Ezra was leaning closer into him, arms moving to loosely drape around his waist - shit, what was a normal heartbeat again?

"I believe I need some wine and latkes.” Ezra’s voice quavered with a tremble of laughter. “For the nerves, of course.”

"Latkes!" Warlock shouted. He released them and ran off to the kitchen, Adam close behind. Ezra and Crowley separated, with much reluctance on Crowley’s part, loathe to be torn from the warm, sweet softness of his angel. Their eyes met as their bodies moved away, and such blissful joy shone out of Ezra’s eyes, that gorgeous, twinkling blue, that Crowley would willingly have drowned in them, lost himself for just a moment more in the man’s embrace. 

Oh, he was in deep. Too deep to climb out of, and too far gone to ever want to.

"For the record," said Ezra, smiling, "we add a candle to the hanukkiah each night. Don't worry, I didn't lose my head."

"Coulda fooled me," winked Crowley, and earned a light slap to the shoulder for his troubles. Their arms linked, sides pressed together, and Ezra gave a happy wiggle at the contact. "C'mon, angel. Let's go fatten me up."

There was no blood that night, and the only screams came from excited, sugar-crazy kids. Crowley reckoned he might just be up for this holiday shit again sometime.

* * *

"Anthony, you're out of teabags! I'm nipping out!"

The frustrated call of a creature deprived his morning cuppa woke Crowley just after six, an hour that should, in his opinion, have been made completely bloody illegal. Head fuzzy from wine, eyes gummed up, he shoved a pillow over his face and yelled out a muffled affirmative. The front door slammed a moment later and he rolled onto his front, fully intent on dropping straight back to sleep, or suffocating himself in eiderdown, whichever came first.

The night had been fucking _brilliant._

They'd all gorged themselves to bursting with the unhealthiest of unhealthy foods, and sunk several bottles of wine between the adults (Warlock and Adam had been allowed to dip their finger in Ezra's glass to taste it and were less than impressed with what was otherwise a fine vintage), and played games and tossed gelt at each other till the lounge resembled a gold-leafed bomb site. Once the boys were tucked up in bed, Crowley had broken out the Talisker, and the added note of whiskey in Ezra's bloodstream had his inhibitions lowered sufficiently enough to start him off singing again.Freddie? Freddie who? Crowley had had an angelic choir in his home that night, warbling words he couldn't understand, but that didn't stop him from his mumbled harmonising as they swayed together in the kitchen, holding each other close, heads on shoulders, fingers carding through hair. Booze or love accounting for unsteadiness, he couldn't tell. Bit of both, on his side, probably. Definitely.

Oh, he'd wanted to kiss his angel so _fucking much._ But Ezra had pulled back eventually, rubbing his eyes and apologising for the late hour he'd kept them up until. _Keep me up forever,_ Crowley had wanted to scream, _just get your gorgeous ass back here and_ dance _with me!_ But, generous host that he was, he'd graciously bid Ezra goodnight and chivvied him off to bed, knowing full well the man would sleep a total of three hours and bounce up fresh as a fucking spring daisy. Crowley was lucky to look half-civilised after a solid twelve uninterrupted hours. 

When he next opened his eyes, it was 10 o'clock, and his head felt a little clearer, his tongue not quite so fuzzy. He stumbled off to shower and make himself presentable, fiddling overlong with his hair and wondering, for the thousandth time that month, whether it was time to take a more dramatic length off the next time he popped into the salon. Closing his eyes, he wound a damp curl around his finger and recalled how it had felt, Ezra's soft and gentle hands playing with the unruly locks the night before. Like starlight shivering down his spine, a hit no amount of devil's lettuce could bestow.

No, he decided, dropping the curl. They could stay a while longer. 

Ezra was in the kitchen reading a newspaper when Crowley emerged, dried, dressed and in dire need of coffee. He flung a cursory grunt in Ezra's general direction and beelined for the coffee machine, practically lapping up the scent like a starving dog as his nectar decanted.

Only once he'd taken a sip, and sighed deeply, did he turn to fully face Ezra. "Morning, angel."

"Good morning, dear." Ezra's smile never seemed to waver, even on the earliest starts of the day. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine, till you started shouting the place down about Taylors of Sodding Harrogate."

"How on _earth_ did you even run out?" shot back Ezra. "You don't even like tea that much!"

(He might have started drinking it when Ezra wasn't around, but he wasn't about to admit that.)

"Mmmmnnneurgh...anyway, what shite're the red-tops spouting today?" Crowley tapped a finger on the newsprint lying between them.

"Really, Anthony," Ezra huffed, "you know I - "

"Yeah, yeah, Guardian fanboy, I know. S' _all_ rubbish, angel. Try living in it your whole life."

"Hm. Well, yes. Speaking of that..." Lips pursed, Ezra lifted up the paper, revealing a magazine beneath it. A gossip magazine, by the looks of things, lying open on the counter. It was a highly unusual thing for someone like Ezra to have on his person, but Ezra pointed to the open page, and the realisation was laid bare between them as Crowley's eyes grew wide with horror.

_Oh, fuck._

Right there, plain as day, was a photograph of him and Ezra embracing in his lounge window, the arms of the menorah cradling them with flickering light. And beside them - faces censored, at the very least - Adam and Warlock. 

_**"'Tis the season to be...Jewish?"** _

_Questions about AJ Crowley's sexuality have flown around for years, and just a few short weeks after having been spotted kissing a mystery woman, astrology's favourite party animal appears to have swiftly moved onto blonder pastures. Crowley, 41, usually very closed-off about his personal life, was seen tenderly embracing an as-yet unnamed male companion, following the lighting of the traditional Jewish menorah to usher in Hanukkah. Christmas decorations can also be discerned around the room - a blending of the holidays, perhaps? We can't imagine a better way to make the most of it all. Here's hoping Crowley spills the beans soon - we're dying to know more!_

Crowley's jaw tightened, teeth grinding. Papping him, fine. Papping Ezra, well, it had happened before, they spent enough time together outside. The kids, though - the kids! His fingers tightened on the glossy pages, nails gouging stripes into the thin sheets. "Fuck the lot of 'em. I _hate_ this."

"I know, dear," Ezra said, sympathetic. 

"Shouldn't be - the boys, it's - s'not _fair,_ they didn't sign up for this. Angel, I'm sorry, Warlock, he -"

"Anthony." A soft hand alighted atop his, prying his ink-stained fingers out of their claw-like grasp. "It's alright. You can't see his face. It's nothing, really -"

 _"Nothing?!"_ Crowley spat. "Being thrust into the public eye isn't _nothing,_ angel! It's hell on earth!" His hands shook, heedless of the comforting touch cocooning them. He turned his head away, eyes burning. _Don't you_ dare _cry in front of him._ "I don't - I never wanted - you and Warlock, you don't deserve..."

And then there were arms around him, gentle pillars of salvation, urging them together. A light touch on the back of his head, prompting him down, face burying in blonde curls. Crowley lost the battle and sobbed quietly into Ezra's hair as he clutched the front of his shirt with shaking hands. 

"I'm sorry, angel..."

"Hush now." Ezra kissed his cheek, long and lingering. "You've nothing to apologise for, darling."

"My h-home - you should be _safe_ here -"

"And I am. We are." Another kiss. "Warlock and I knew exactly what we signed up for, when you and I became friends. Trust me, Anthony - I can cope with a lot worse than being mistaken for your partner."

Crowley raised his head slowly, his smile watery and fragile. "Can you now?"

"Of course." Ezra quirked a brow. "A few cameras? I couldn't care less. Let them prattle on. Newton exploding the printer for the fourth time in a week, now _that's_ frightening stuff." 

The resulting laughter on their lips bubbled out merry and bright, and died away almost as quickly as it came, their proximity seemingly finally dawning on Ezra as it had long before for Crowley. 

"Oh..."

"Ezra...I..."

They were so close...their lips mere inches apart...if one of them just leaned in and _took that chance..._

Ezra's eyes flickered, to Crowley's mouth. Eyes. Mouth. Back to eyes. "Is this...?" he whispered.

"What?"

"I..."

"Yeah, angel?"

"Anthony..." Ezra touched his cheek. "Can I-"

The kitchen door burst open.

"Uncle AJ! We're huuuungry!" Adam and Warlock barrelled into the room, twin whirlwinds of pyjamas and bed-ruffled hair. Ezra and Crowley had already sprung apart, practically flying to opposite corners of the room in their haste to separate. Dammit, they'd been so fucking _close!_

"Right. Um. Well." Crowley cleared his throat and hoped the blush on his face wasn't nearly as scarlet as Ezra's currently was. "Breakfast, then. Sit down, you rowdy lot, I haven't had nearly enough coffee to deal with your noise."

_He was gonna kiss me. I swear to fucking God he was gonna kiss me! I. Cannot. Fucking. DEAL!_

* * *

Adam placed and lit the second candle on the menorah, Warlock the third, and by the fourth night, when it came to Crowley's turn, he was a nervous wreck. 

"It's not difficult," Ezra murmured, gently guiding Crowley's hand to the shamash. The newest candle had been set already. "Just pick it up, and light from left to right."

"What if I mess it up?" Crowley whispered desperately.

"So what if you do?"

"This is important to you." He luxuriated in the silky soft feel of Ezra's fingers over the back of his hand, warmer than any candle.

Ezra smiled at him. "It's just a few bits of wax, darling. I don't think any metaphorical deity will strike you down if you drip some on the floor."

At their feet, Warlock and Adam sniggered as they ate their nightly share of gelt. "Uncle AJ's drunk, and now he can't light the candle," remarked Adam, busily scribbling crayons across his colouring book, a Christmas present from Ezra. Crowley spluttered in embarrassed indignation, even as Ezra gave a tight, sympathetic smile and patted him on the arm.

Eventually the candles were lit, their flames dancing happily even as Crowley stumbled his way through a terrible facsimile of a blessing. Afterwards, deliberately prodding Adam with his toe, he stalked away to the kitchen in search of wine. Ezra would stay close to the menorah for a while, as he did every night, so there was nobody to protest as Crowley decidedly uncorked his second pinot noir of the night, and poured a brimming glass for himself.

He nibbled on a leftover bit of turkey sitting on a roasting pan atop the oven, leaning heavily on the counter to keep his balance. With a bit of culinary knowhow, Ezra had managed to help with Christmas dinner, which was good, because Crowley never so much as roasted a mere chicken, let alone a massive fucking turkey with all the damned trimmings. The remains of the meal lay scattered across the kitchen, taking up most of the space in the sink and across the centre island, but he could deal with it later, maybe tomorrow, or next week, who cared about washing up anyway? There were definitely sprouts on the floor from Adam and Warlock chucking them at each other. Couldn't blame them. Nasty things.

He drained his glass and poured another. Oh, that was the stuff. Fantastic vintage. His phone buzzed in his pocket, no doubt another attempt from his mother or siblings to demand his whereabouts this fine holiday season. He tossed the device happily into the sink. 

Life was - life was - life was spinning around his head like a top, like a - like a dreidel. "A great miracle happened there," Crowley chuckled to himself, the miracle perhaps being that he hadn't yet dropped dead of alcohol poisoning, having drunk enough to sedate a herd of tap-dancing elephants since the start of Hanukkah. There was, obviously, no better way to manage the surging fire of emotions that followed almost fucking _kissing_ the love of his sorry-ass life. A sort of awkward barrier sat between them now, a line they were too scared to cross, and Crowley's heart had been aching the whole time.

"Anthony?"

Crowley peered over the top of his sunglasses to see Ezra lingering by the kitchen door, frowning. Shit, how long had he been skulking in here? Had the candles gone out already?

"The boys are nodding off already, bless them," Ezra said. "I think we should get them to bed, what say you?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Crowley set down his half-empty glass and wobbled into an upright position. "Just a sec, be there in a mo."

Ezra's frown deepened. "Are you alright, my dear?"

"Yes. Yeah." Crowley took a deep breath and groaned it out. "No."

The frown softened, became an empathetic smile. "Let's put the boys in bed, and we'll natter. Yes?"

"Alright, angel." Anything to make sure he never said the word "natter" ever again.

Coaxing the boys to bed proved to be more difficult than usual, given the sugar rushing through their bodies battling with their tiredness. Crowley eventually grabbed Adam and set him on his hip as he stumbled towards his room, Ezra close behind with a yawning Warlock in tow. Luckily, they were both out like lights the minute their heads hit their pillows, and Crowley found himself being pushed through to the lounge by a rather insistent and not-nearly-drunk-enough-for-this-conversation Ezra.

“Wait here.” Ezra made sure Crowley stayed put on the sofa, then left the room.

Crowley descended into his usual sprawl, rubbing his eyes. Thankfully, when Ezra returned, he had brought the pinot noir and glasses with him, along with a rather soggy-looking mobile. “Anthony, why on earth was your phone in the sink? Actually, don’t answer that…” He sat down in the nearby armchair and poured himself some wine. “You’ve been nervous all night, dear. Is everything alright? I’m worrying for you.”

 _I’m okay, just a bit on edge really, hey, pass the vino would ya?_ That was what Crowley intended to say as he straightened up a little and opened his mouth. What came out instead was,

"I'm a mess, aren't I, angel?"

That made Ezra laugh lightly. "Oh, aren't we all, darling?" he murmured, sipping his wine. His gaze became steely once more when he lowered the glass to peer over the rim. "But do I need to be concerned?"

"Nah," Crowley grinned, waving a hand. "Me all the time, this. Just highly strung at the minute. Holidays and all that. Lot to do. Oh, that reminds me..." He twisted in his seat and stuck a hand under one of the sofa cushions. Dust and stray coins brushed his fingers till he closed his grasp around a square box. Triumphant, he pulled it out. "Sorry, s'a bit battered now...um..." He held it towards Ezra. "Got ya something. For Christmas. Obviously. What else would it have been for. Here, take it."

Ezra took the box, expression reverent. He touched the gold and white brocade wrapping with a shaking finger. "Anthony," he whispered. "You shouldn't have."

"Well, I did, so suck it up." Crowley pushed his glasses up onto his head to flash Ezra a wink. 

"Is this what you were so nervous about?" Ezra asked, starting to unwrap the paper, neatly and without tearing it, because of fucking course he'd be a prissy bastard like that.

"No. Absolutely not. Why would you think that?" The glasses dropped with a _clack_ back onto Crowley's nose right on cue.

"Just a hun - _oh!"_ Ezra's free hand jumped to cover his mouth. 

Crowley had seen the gift in question at the same time he'd picked up the menorah, and known straight away it was meant to be in Ezra's possession. A pocket watch, burnished gold and weathered with age, but ticking away steadily, its inner workings ignorant to the trials of time. A pair of angel wings adorned the medallion at the end of the chain, and the top piece when closed; it was the latter that Ezra was now touching with worshipful fingers, eyes shining brightly in the dimly lit room.

"You got this...for me? Oh, Anthony, I...I don't know what to say..." He hugged the box to his chest as tears began to glitter on his lashes. "It's beautiful. Thank you so much."

"Ah, don't mention it." Crowley, of course, was lighting up inside.

"I must put it on right this very minute. One moment, dear." A few fusses later, and the watch was in place, the chain threaded through a buttonhole on his waistcoat. It suited him perfectly, like it was always meant to be there. "Oh, it's _marvellous,_ isn't it?" gushed Ezra, positively beaming. No hint of Crowley's nerves remained now, content as he was to slouch back and return that gorgeous smile. "A lovely piece, truly. My gift to you pales in comparison, unfortunately..."

Crowley shot upright. "Ngk...?!"

"Yes, I believe I have it here somewhere...ah, here we go."

From behind the armchair Ezra produced a sleek black and red gift bag, complete with a glittery bow and a tag, upon which _My dearest Anthony_ was written in Ezra's neat cursive script. He held it out, and Crowley leaned over to take it, nerves suddenly pounding through him full force. 

"I kept the receipt, if it turns out not to be to your taste. Or if you simply don't like it. Just say the word, and -"

 _Oi, you're not allowed to hate on yourself like that._ Not waiting a second longer to hear another word, Crowley stuck a hand into the bag, fingers closing around cold metal and soft fabric, before he pulled the object out, revealing a skein of woven material, gunmetal grey, the ends tapering into decorative silver tassels. Oh, it was _very_ much his taste.

"Is it a tie?" he asked Ezra, who was shifting worriedly in his seat.

"Yes. Sort of like a bolo, I believe. You don't - you don't have to -"

"Angel, it's great." Crowley swiftly donned the tie and swept it into a loose knot at his sternum. The fabric itched slightly on the back of his neck, but nothing a quick wash wouldn't sort out, surely. "Thanks, Ezra. I fucking love it."

"You do?"

"Course. It's from you, ain't it?"

"Stop it," blushed Ezra, "or I might have to come over there and hug you."

"I categorically refuse to stop. Accept my affection, dumbass."

"Then I suppose you asked for it." 

_"Oof."_ What a way to end up with a lapful of adorably blushing angel? Not that Crowley was complaining. Well, except for the fact it wasn't _quite_ a lapful, but he'd take what he was given. He wrapped an arm around Ezra's shoulders and leaned in to kiss his cheek, then his forehead, and couldn't help but sigh when Ezra closed his eyes and leaned his head on his chest like he belonged there.

(He did.)

"Merry Christmas, angel. Happy Hanukkah. Holidays. That stuff."

"Merry Christmas, darling." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley would look amazing with a fishtail braid, no I will not be taking criticism at this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, and I'm bringing you some fluffy goodness with a slight bit of reminiscent angst, so take care and tread lightly, but I think you're going to like this one.
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter: discussion of past character death, discussion of adoption

Crowley hated a good many things. Warm beer - unless it was sake, then it was sacrilege to have it any other way - the fourteenth century, Sunday drivers, casual homophobia, split ends, David Icke…

But he hated press conferences more than anything. Particularly, press conferences brought on by his family doing stupid shit - which, in all fairness, was pretty much the only shit they did, but he hated them nonetheless. “Take off your fucking glasses,” Bee had hissed at him as he trailed morosely behind her to take his seat at the table, and now he had a pounding headache from the flashing lights and incessant journalist chatter. Smile, that’s it. Just smile - no, wait, don’t fucking smile, not right now - wrong place wrong time -

“Mrs Crowley,” a stony-faced Times reporter was saying, to the equally granite visage that was Bee, “last night your son Hassel was taken into custody after allegedly assaulting a shopkeeper. Early police reports suggest he was under the influence of alcohol. Is there anything you wish to say in response to these allegations?”

Arms crossed over the table, Bee leaned towards her microphone, media face switched firmly on. “These are of course very serious allegations, and every measure will be taken to cooperate with the relevant authorities. BC Media does not condone acts of violence, and I say this both as a media figurehead, and as a mother.” Sitting beside her - as stiff and straight-backed as he could manage, given his snakelike tendency to drape - Crowley fought the urge to snort. Bee's false-syrupy tone was laced with hidden venom; he could practically smell it oozing from her pores. "It's Miss, by the way. Never married."

"My apologies, Miss Crowley."

"Thank you."

A second reporter raised her hand, a pen balanced between her fingers. Bee nodded at her and sat back. “Hiya - Amanda Simcox, Vanity Fair. This incident is the latest in a string of alleged assaults on various people over the years, often in the company of your second son, Lionel -”

“We’re not here to discuss Lionel,” Bee said sharply.

“Yes, of course - though, Miss Crowley, given the relevant history, would you say that substance abuse is commonplace amongst your children?"

A sudden hush fell upon the room. Crowley suddenly had the feeling that every pair of eyes were on him, and had no desire to look down and find out. Beside him, Bee looked to be clenching her jaw so tight a muscle was twitching by her ear. It was a rare moment, for him to take pity on his mother, but here it came; eyes fixed firmly on the far wall, Crowley leaned forward in his seat, placed his chin in the cradle of his hand, and grinned. "Alright, you lot. No need to call me out like that, eh?"

Laughter erupted from the crowd, the tension broken, and Bee looked a touch more relaxed as she turned to murmur to her lawyer. Phew. Situation successfully averted.

The question was repeated to Crowley, to which he shook his head. “Honestly, it’ll be Hassel’s 60-a-day cigarette habit that’ll do him in before booze does,” he shrugged, “but he’s never taken anything illicit that me or anyone else in the family is aware of. If he’s had any blood work done down at the Old Bill, that’ll tell us what was in his system at the time of the alleged incident, but till then, all we can do is speculate on the hows and whys of the matter.”

“Thank you, Mr Crowley.”

“You’re welcome, Ms Simcox.” 

Exhausted wasn’t the word for it. Crowley checked his watch on the way out and groaned to see it was only just after nine in the morning. He'd been unceremoniously yanked out of bed by his sister and barrelled off to hair and makeup before being shoved into a limo bound for the conference, leaving Ana in charge of getting Adam ready for school. Somewhere along the line he’d been talked through the usual scripted spiel of crap he was expected to say, should questions come to him, but he’d done away with it the instant he stepped out of the vehicle to weather the storm, and served them right for making him come along. Bee could have handled the debacle by herself, but she seemed determined to drag Crowley back into the public eye any way she could.

Still, he’d made the reporters laugh, so it wasn’t all that bad. He caught a glance of himself in the limo window as he clambered in, and groaned. _I need coffee, a shower, and a complete style overhaul, in that order._

Back at the flat, he attended swiftly to the first two pressing needs, scrubbing away the masses of makeup that caked his skin, sculpting his jaw and cheekbones into devastating valleys that made him long afterwards for pretty manicures and soft, smoky eyes. All evidence subsequently washed down the drain, he enlisted Ana’s help in blow drying his hair, and bless her, she always just _knew_ when he was going into one of his moods, gathering brushes, sprays and serums aplenty. “So, how was it?” she asked, as she set to work.

Crowley made a face, only partly due to Ana’s tugging on his hair. “Probably shouldn’t say. ‘Case it goes to court and all that.”

“But you’ll tell me anyway.”

“Yep. So, get this…” 

Off he went, a client in the hairdresser’s chair, rambling on as Ana spritzed and straightened his curls. Mid-rant his eyes kept fluttering closed and his mouth stopped working, lost for words from the sensation of delicate fingers weaving and sectioning, enjoying the tingles down his spine, and Ana had to jab him with her knee to get him to continue. Eventually, after several attempts and much swearing on Ana’s part, Crowley was the proud owner of one absolutely fucking beautiful fishtail plait. 

“Holy shit.” Crowley stared at himself, open-mouthed. It was _perfect._

Ana ran her fingers down the braided strands, smoothing any flyaways, and kissed him on the brow. "You gorgeous bastard," she muttered. "How very dare you look this nice."

“Wow, I...I don’t even…”

“You like it?”

“I love it. Fuck. Thank you, you’re amazing.” Crowley twisted to plant a kiss on Ana’s cheek in kind, feeling her cheeks plump up under his lips as she smiled. 

“I’m gonna go tidy up after your whirlwind nephew before I head off home, or d’you need me for anything else today?”

Crowley shook his head. “Nah, I’m good. You get off whenever.” _I’m gonna sit here and admire myself a bit longer. That’s allowed after the morning I’ve had, right?_

A buzz sounded from the bed a mere second after Ana's skirts had rounded the corner. Crowley stretched out a hand, feeling around and eventually locating his phone under a pillow. Ezra was calling, and of course, because Ezra was calling, Crowley started to smile like a lovestruck idiot. He accepted the call. "Hi, angel. Sorry I missed you at school."

_"Good morning, dear, and not to worry; Miss Device told me about your rather rude awakening - just thought I'd check in on you, see how things are."_

"Oh. Yeah, that. Ugh. Stupid family stuff. Been home maybe an hour now, anyway. Thank fuck."

Ezra tittered quietly on the other end of the line. _"You sound stressed."_

"When am I ever not stressed?"

_"You certainly don't make it easy for yourself."_

"You arse, stop calling me out like that."

Ezra made a noise of amusement. _"In any case...the library is closing early today for redecorating. What say we get some lunch, hm? I could do with a little advice, if you can spare a moment - but I understand if -"_

"I've always got a moment for you, you bloody idiot," Crowley huffed, smiling at Ezra's soft, giggling reply. "Right. When are you closing?"

_"Just after midday."_

"Pick a place to go and I'll come get you."

 _"Alright, darling."_ And there went his heart again, smashing wildly against his ribs at the sound of his most favourite word in the world. God, but nobody said it like Ezra could, would never make Crowley dance inside like a madman like Ezra could. _"I'll see you soon."_

"See you, angel." 

The phone went back on the bed with a careless toss of the wrist. Crowley returned to his cross-legged slouch in front of the mirror and ran a hand over his face. He’d shaved hurriedly when he woke up, and there were a few grazes across his chin and jaw, but nothing a bit of green concealer wouldn’t fix.

Sitting back, he grinned. _If I’m feelin’ it, might as well go the whole hog._

"Alexa,” he called out, “play "Appetite for Destruction."

_"Shuffling songs from "Appetite for Destruction," by Guns N Roses, on Amazon Music."_

The scratching intro riff of "Mr Brownstone" had Crowley's hips swaying as he rose back to his feet and went in search of his makeup stash.

* * *

Getting the Tube was fucking fantastic when nobody recognised you. Crowley felt a whole new person entirely and was very smug for it. Not a single person staring and whispering - well, maybe a couple, for reasons he could actually appreciate. He stepped off at his destination with a swing in his step that had little to do with the six inch heels. 

Okay, maybe a bit to do with the heels.

Alright, a hell of a lot, and damn if they didn’t make his arse look _fantastic._

Crowley had visited the campus on Chancery Lane a few times in the past, and knew it well enough. Once inside the library, he looked around with interest at Ezra's workplace. Of course the man would love any excuse to work in a book nest - he _lived_ in one, after all, and above one to boot. The faint aroma of bookbinding glue and well-perused, much-loved paper floated on the air like a comfort blanket to the senses. Somehow, it was a little like coming home. 

Ezra was nowhere to be seen, but behind the checking-out desk, having about as much luck with his computer as a sapphic ewe out on the pull, was Ana's boyfriend. They'd met very briefly, once or twice, and struck Crowley as a quiet, fairly nervous sort. Grinning to himself, he sauntered over, leaned on the counter, and put on his softest, most sultry tone. "'Scuse me…"

Newt barely looked up. "Sorry, be with you in a moment...just need to hit Enter and - " The computer made a dismayed noise, as did Newt. He sighed, then swivelled his chair round to face Crowley. "Sorry about that. Um. What can I do for you? Library's closing up really soon, though, so you'll have to make it quick."

Crowley toyed with an errant curl by his ear. "Having tech trouble?"

"Yes. No. Well, I...I suppose I'm just not very good with computers...er, do I know you? Are you a student? You look familiar."

“Do I?” He idly examined his nails. "I think I just have one of those faces." 

"No, I definitely…" Newt's cheeks suddenly bloomed a violent scarlet. "Holy shit!" he hissed. "Is that you under there, AJ?" 

Crowley burst into peals of laughter, hanging onto the counter for balance. Joker of the year, that was him. 

"What is all this _noise?"_

Hoo mama, Ezra's whipcrack voice was enough to quake the strongest of knees, inflame the most guarded of loins. Crowley was quite thankful the skirts of his dress covered the sudden interest stirring within him as Ezra appeared in a doorway, disapproval written all over his face. "Honestly, this is a _library,”_ he fumed as he stormed over, _“_ can you please keep it -” 

One look at Crowley and he stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open. 

“O-Oh...my...”

Crowley lifted his glasses to shoot Ezra a wink. “Hey, angel.” 

Ezra simply stared, dumbstruck, and time seemed to stand still. 

So much had changed, between the holidays and now. Crowley hadn't been sure at first, wondering if his desperate brain had been making it all up, but...no, there was no mistaking the look in Ezra's eye. It was the same face he made when presented with a chocolate torte, a fine malbec wine, a first edition Wilde he'd yet to add to his collection. It was hunger. Naked, unabashed hunger, and after resisting the sweet pull of temptation for over a year, Crowley ached to be consumed.

“My goodness. Anthony, you look…” Ezra’s cheeks had turned the colour of ripe tomatoes, but his smile was open and delighted as he came forward to place his hands on Crowley’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “Oh, don’t you look a picture? You’re gorgeous, darling.”

“Aww, you’ll make me blush.” If he wasn’t already blushing like a fool. Which he probably was. His face bloody well felt hot enough. 

"What are your pronouns?" Ezra asked, startling him momentarily. It hadn't ever been enquired about previously, but then again, this was the first time Ezra had seen Crowley in more than a blouse or a scattering of makeup. The question was downright respectful, actually, and he loved Ezra all the more for it.

"Still he/him. I just like the get-up, angel. Thanks for asking, though."

"Well, of course." Ezra beamed and stepped back. “Give me just a moment to get my coat and we’ll go.”

And off they went, leaving Newt to gape, insensate, behind them.

“No Bentley today?” Ezra enquired, as they stepped into the street.

“Nah. Never did get the hang of driving in heels.”

“Probably for the best. Are those Iron Fist?"

"H-How in the ever-loving fuck did _you_ know that?!"

"Tracy and her ever-expanding shoe closet, mostly, but really, darling, give this old queen a _little_ credit."

"I have a sudden need to be introduced to that closet," Crowley mused, thoughtful. He glanced over as Ezra slipped his hand into the crook of his arm, and smiled, reaching with his free hand to pat the soft fingers at his elbow. "Look at us, eh. A queen and a queer, out to lunch. We make a right pair."

"A rather fabulous one, if I do say so myself."

"Easy there, angel. Keep inflating my ego, my head might not fit through the door."

"You're so tall right now, I'll be surprised if you fit regardless."

"You utter bastard." 

Ezra fucking _winked_ and gave his "don't I know it" smile.

They slipped into a hole-in-the-wall cafe that Ezra pointed out, and ordered food - or rather, Ezra ordered for himself while Crowley snagged the odd bite from his plate. It was a cosy joint, quiet and positioned just so to avoid prying eyes. A good spot as any to talk things over.

“So…” Crowley filched a potato wedge and nibbled off a crispy corner. “You needed my advice on something?”

Ezra sighed deeply. He lowered his fork to his plate, lips pursed and eyes downcast.

“Angel?”

He looked up then, a timid smile flickering to life. “Sorry, darling. Lost in thought for a moment. It’s...well...it’s about Warlock."

"Is he alright?"

"Oh, he's fine, don't worry. I just wondered if I should perhaps talk to him about...that is to say...that I’m not his, um. His biological parent.”

Questions swarmed Crowley's mind then, invasive and perhaps a little hostile; none of which, in any case, he really fancied asking. Instead he settled for leaning his elbows on the table - manners be damned - and saying, "why?"

Ezra's eyes dropped to his plate, fingers fidgeting with a napkin. "He asked about one of the photographs in my bedroom. You won't have seen it, I suppose, but I took a quick snap of it on my mobile to show you…" He dropped the napkin and pulled out his phone with his free hand, sweeping his thumb a few times over the screen before passing it over.

It was a portrait photograph, slightly blurry, of a short, glamorous brunette woman, the hem of her dress fluttering in the wind, and beside her a taller, broad-shouldered man. The woman held a blanketed bundle of tiny limbs in her arms and beamed at the camera as she leaned into who was clearly her husband. Chewing thoughtfully, Crowley zoomed the picture in slightly to behold his beloved, for next to the happy couple was Ezra, looking utterly gorgeous in a blue shirt and grey knitted cardigan, blonde curls ruffled and cheeks rosy pink. Behind them a manor house stretched immodestly over a lawn blooming with flowers. Crowley took it all in with eagerness, a sliver of Ezra's past to file away and hoard eagerly.

"Is this them?"

"Harriet and Thaddeus, yes."

"Didn't you say you used to work for them?" Crowley handed the phone back. "Think you might've mentioned it a while back."

"Mm. I assisted with maintenance of their estate."

A laugh huffed from Crowley before he could stop it. "You, a gardener. Honestly. The basil on your windowsill begs to differ."

"Yes, well, that particular plant is just destined to despise my efforts at keeping it alive," Ezra grumbled. "Otherwise, I was a perfectly decent horticulturalist for the Dowlings during my postgraduate years."

The subject of Ezra's past rarely came up in conversation, given his general dislike of speaking about himself. Crowley never pushed for answers, figuring Ezra would divulge in his own time, and that assumption was usually correct. What Crowley already knew about the Dowlings had been offered throughout their friendship in casual and light-hearted conversation; an American family, well-connected in political spheres, and Thaddeus spent a lot of time back in the States on work business, leaving Harriet bored and lonely at home. Ezra had come to her, an equally bored and lonely Masters student, in desperate need of a hobby and a way to escape the stifling constraints of his siblings, and they had become fast friends. 

"What I want to know, though," said Crowley, "and no disrespect to you, angel - is why _you_ were chosen to adopt Warlock, instead of, say, family back in the States."

"Well, Harriet had very little family herself," Ezra explained, spreading his hands and seemingly ignoring Crowley's shameless pilfering of another potato wedge from his plate, "and Tad's side were rather...shall we say... _conservative,_ even by his standards. I’d like to think that they saw me as part of their family by this point; I certainly thought of them as such. We discussed it, Harriet and I...she asked if I would consider raising their child, if anything ever happened to them, and…”

"And you were?"

"Oh, yes. I do so love children, I always have done." A whisper of sorrow crossed his face then. "But I never...well, I never quite imagined that it would come to fruition…"

The rest, Crowley knew as told in drunken fits and bursts of maudlin poignancy; a horrific crash on the M25, frantic phone calls, tears and blood and a dazed Ezra stumbling out of a police station at 4am to seek refuge in Tracy’s arms. Legal proceedings and numerous boxes of tissues for running noses and grief-filled eyes, and the Dowlings’ last will and testament pored over...and there it was, signed and legal - _“In the event of our deaths, we appoint Ezra Zephaniah Fell to serve as guardian to our children…”_

Come to think of it, hadn’t it been the same for himself? _“I, Lucien Armin Crowley, being of sound mind and body, yada yada, boring legal stuff, appoint Anthony Jophiel Crowley as guardian to my son, Adam Arthur Crowley, should I die before Adam’s eighteenth birthday -”_ and that had been a kick in the fucking teeth to say it nicely. Lucien had left his assets and earnings to his baby brother, too, to do with as he saw fit, as well as a bank account set aside for Adam to access at eighteen. For all that he’d done a cracking job of ruining numerous lives, the Devil himself always made sure his son wanted for nothing, even when his own life came to an end and thereafter. 

Crowley closed his eyes and exhaled hard. A faint scream rang out, echoing in the caverns of his mind.

“Anthony? Are you alright, darling?” 

Warm fingers touched the back of his hand, just the slightest brush, but it was enough to bring him back to himself. Crowley opened his eyes again and nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Ezra looked worried. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Got lost in thought myself, but anyway…” He shook his head, banishing the unwanted noise. “Warlock. D’you think he’d understand? Or is it more that you just want him to know?”

“The latter, I think.” Ezra sat back, fingers leaving Crowley’s hand, to his dismay. “I worry that if I put it off, he will come to resent me when he’s older. Would he wonder why I kept it from him? It’s been keeping me up at night lately. I hate to compare the two, but with his situation, and Adam’s...I just wondered how you and Adam managed it all.”

“Well, Adam knew me already as his uncle,” Crowley explained, “and he was older when his dad died, and he remembers him a little, he knows he’s not here anymore. I talked to him about it once, and he just said he knew, he was okay and all that. My main worry is that one day he’ll go full Dexter Morgan on the world, considering how I found him…”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Point is, kids aren’t stupid, y’know? Sooner or later they figure this stuff out for themselves. While he’s still little, maybe you should get it out of the way now. No matter what, you’re still his dad, angel. He loves you more than anything.” Ezra was worrying at the napkin again, rubbing the edges so frantically they looked to fray any second; Crowley gently took it from him, twined their fingers together instead, and relished the squeeze Ezra gave his hand. “Look, I don’t have all the answers. None of us do. But we’re trying, we both are. I’m…” He swallowed past the lump in his throat, “I’m honoured, y’know? That you came to me. Even if I wasn’t much help, I…”

“Darling.” Ezra’s eyes were sparkling, a mixture of emotion and gratitude. “Oh, Anthony, my dear. Who else would I turn to? You’re my best friend. You’ve helped me more than I could ever put into words...ever since we met, I...you’ve done so much for me. I don’t know how I can ever thank you, for the love and kindness you’ve shown me...”

God, how long had they been dancing around each other like this? Well over a year now, and with every passing moment the truth became clearer. Fuck, but Crowley had pushed back, said no, held Ezra at arm’s length as much as he could, but now, now he _knew,_ was _certain..._ no, it wasn’t fair to keep running away. Wasn’t fair to Ezra, or to himself. Every carefully catalogued moment together flashed in Crowley’s mind’s eye: Ezra, picking Adam up from school when Crowley was too sick to manage; falling asleep together on the sofa after the disastrous dinner party at Gabriel’s; Adam and Warlock holding hands; Ezra talking and holding Crowley through his shattering breakdown; slow dancing at Christmas, drawing close enough to kiss... 

If he’d have felt nothing on Ezra’s end, he’d happily take what he was given, and never ask for more. But…

"Never _tell me to walk away from you. Don't you...don't you_ fucking dare, _Anthony Crowley."_

_"Why? Why do all this for me, angel?"_

_"I think we both know why."_

He knew. He’d always known, and he couldn’t stand, couldn’t _bear,_ to hide from it anymore.

It was now or never. Time to put on his big girl pants and pop the question.

"Ezra." 

“Hm?”

Crowley took a deep breath. Exhaled, long and slow. Opened his eyes to see Ezra watching him patiently, a customer or two staring. He ignored them, focused on their hands, still linked, warm and comfortable, and Ezra’s steady gaze, waiting, waiting...

"Would you...like to have dinner sometime? Just you and me?"

Ezra blinked in a flutter of golden lashes, eyebrows rising to disturb the fine lines on his forehead. His fingers twitched against Crowley’s, and for one horrible, heart-wrenching second, Crowley prepared for the worst, to be flung aside and rejected like he had been his entire -

“Yes. Oh, _yes,_ darling. I’d love that.” The twitch became a full-blown, trembling squeeze. “I’d like nothing more.”

The stupidest, most overjoyed smile spread across Crowley’s painted-up face, and he didn’t give a single fuck about his foundation cracking, or what a sight he must have looked, preening and glowing in Ezra’s acceptance. “Yeah?” he whispered. “You mean it?”

“I do.”

“You know what...what I’m asking, right?”

“Yes.” Ezra lifted Crowley’s hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to his knuckles, and there were definitely people staring at them now. Crowley gave no fucks about them, either, if only because he thought he might pass out any second. _He said yes! He said yes! Holy fuck, he said -_

“Although,” Ezra continued, “it took you long enough to finally ask, darling.”

System restored. Crowley shot upright again. Still holding his hand, Ezra looked at him with that eyelash-batting coquettishness that would have a lesser man falling at his feet. Crowley _was_ that lesser man, and he’d long since willingly fallen.

“You,” he said, with no venom whatsoever, “really are...an utter bastard.”

“Would you have me any other way?”

Crowley smiled, reached his free hand out, both his hands now holding Ezra’s. “No. Never. Not for the world, angel.”

“So, it’s a date?”

It was Crowley’s turn to brush lips across knuckles. “Damn right it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was cackling over the sapphic ewe bit for ages, due in part to [this post.](https://somuchshare.tumblr.com/post/174163591453/somebody-said-the-thing-like-i-always-wonder-how)
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One of the moment we've all been waiting for. Yep, you're getting two chapters of the date. You're welcome.

“You  _ didn’t!” _

Date night had finally arrived. There hadn’t been much waiting, a mere week going by since Crowley’s falling-over-himself attempt to ask Ezra out, but to Crowley it had felt like six thousand years. The boys were staying with Ana and Newt for the night, and Crowley had done himself up impeccably, straightening and braiding his hair, Norse-style, feeling a million pounds and happier than ever to have his favourite angel on his arm.

And here they were, suited and booted, ready to wine, dine and be merry - arguing good-naturedly inside the foyer of their destination.

“Really, my dear, I have learned to expect the unexpected from you, but this goes beyond the pale.”

“Aw, you sound upset, angel," Crowley teased.

“Well, I think I might be a tad underdressed for a night at the bloody  _ Ritz!  _ Which, by the way, you conveniently neglected to inform me of.”

Crowley stuck a casual thumb into the belt loop of his charcoal suit trousers. “Wanted it to be a surprise. Anyway, times change - you can wear jeans in here now, can you imagine!”

Ezra rolled his eyes. “You are truly insufferable.” He had chosen a three-piece of light beige over a baby blue shirt for their date ( _ “date!”),  _ finishing the ensemble with cufflinks in the shape of tiny harps, his pocket watch, and a tie, an actual long tie, royal blue and secured in an impeccable full Windsor. In a first for Crowley’s viewing pleasure, the slightest hint of peach balm shone on Ezra’s lips, with a subtle coat of brown mascara lifting his lashes, making his wonder-bright eyes look even bigger as he cast his gaze to the finery surrounding them. The place as a whole was a bit too chintzy for Crowley’s tastes, really, but it always impressed a first-timer. 

“This must cost a fortune,” Ezra sighed, replete with awe. “I hope, my dear, that you aren’t thinking of paying for everything here.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley grinned, “you’ve not been paying attention, have you? I’m spoiling you rotten tonight. If you even  _ think  _ of getting out your wallet while we’re here, there’ll be dire consequences.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow slowly.  _ God,  _ his resting bitch face did things to Crowley’s knees. After a moment Ezra conceded, taking Crowley’s arm with a muttered, “fine, but I shall kvetch about it - heartily, I might add, and you can’t stop me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Crowley pecked the top of his head. “Right. Shall we? I think you'll like where we're sitting."

He did, indeed. He clasped his hands together and gasped and cooed like the happiest dove in Mayfair when Crowley drew him towards a table directly in front of a towering window, overlooking the soft lights of Green Park. Crowley pulled Ezra's chair out for him, and the look of sheer adoration in his eyes as he sat down made Crowley's already wobbly knees completely weak. The moment Ezra sat down, Crowley near flung himself to his own seat and collapsed into it, arranging his limbs into what he hoped was an artful yet interested sprawl. As it was, he probably looked how he felt - an overly anxious spider tap-dancing its way off a ravine to oblivion -

-But Ezra reached over the table, palm facing up, fingers wiggling to come hither, and somehow the gesture grounded him a little. He extended his own hand and entwined their fingers, soft to firm. Ezra sighed happily. "I'm glad we're here, darling."

Crowley smiled. "Me too, angel."

"Might I ask something?"

"Sure."

"Have you...that is to say…" Ezra turned to gaze out of the window, plump cheeks turning slightly pink. "Have you been planning this a while?"

"I guess. Since...well, I was gonna ask you the day Tracy showed up in that café, but…"

A look of mournful remembrance crossed Ezra's face. "Oh. I am sorry."

"S'alright. Friends are important, too. Anyway," he squeezed Ezra's hand gently, "we're here now. I just wish I hadn't been so chicken about it for so long."

Ezra shook his head. "I don't regret a moment of it. You've a lot of weight on your shoulders, Anthony, being who you are, and what’s expected of you, so I understand why we couldn't...why we couldn't get to this point until now." His eyes dropped to their hands, still linked atop the pristine tablecloth. "I would have made that first move myself, if I hadn't been so worried I might frighten you off, and I couldn't  _ bear _ to lose you, darling. I knew, in my heart, that you would have rejected me, if only to protect Warlock and I from a world we didn’t know."

There was a lump in Crowley's throat. He swallowed, trying to clear the emotion lodged there. "You're...too damn clever for your own good," he whispered.

"Possibly," Ezra smiled, "though I rather think I just know you very well by now." They were interrupted then by the arrival of a waiter, armed with menus, and only then did Ezra appear to withdraw slightly, becoming shy and nervous as he glanced over his menu and promptly pushed it away. “Oh, goodness. I can’t look. Surely it’ll be too much.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Crowley raised an eyebrow over his glasses. “You  _ love  _ too much.”

“No, I mean...oh, dear. Will you order for me, darling? I really can’t stand to see how much this night will cost you.”

Crowley shook his head, amused, as if Ezra hadn’t clapped his hands and squealed with delight all the numerous other times Crowley had flashed the cash for them to have a good time. When the waiter returned, Crowley gave his own order directly, but pointed on the menu for Ezra’s, wanting to surprise him when it arrived. “Oh, and a bottle of Cristal as well, if that’s alright,” he finished as an afterthought, and resisted the urge to laugh at the dumbstruck expression on Ezra’s face the moment he mentioned the expensive bubbly.  _ Kvetch away, sweetheart. _

“Absolutely,” the waiter nodded, jotting down on a notepad. “Will that be all?”

“Yeah, for now, cheers.”

Light-hearted chatter filled the time as they waited for their meal and, as parents of rambunctious children are wont to do, conversation quickly turned to their little ones. "What do you think the boys are getting up to?" Ezra asked. His hands were in his lap now, and Crowley itched to hold them again. 

"Eh, knowing Adam, he'll be terrorising Newt, the poor sod," he replied with a shrug. "Didn't you say he's shit with technology? I hope Adam doesn't hand over his 3DS or anything like that. Lost count of how many times I've had to replace the damn thing."

Ezra laughed lightly. "I packed Warlock's tablet, and some books, but I wager he'll barely glance at the latter."

"Is he still into that twat on YouTube? The one with the orange glasses?"

"Yes, he's quite enamoured with Mr Blippi."

Crowley shuddered. "Nightmare fuel."

"It keeps him occupied and learning," shrugged Ezra. He smiled then, a reminiscent sparkle in his eyes. "Goodness me. Last time Warlock stayed out overnight I was an utter nervous wreck. Now look at me. I'm as relaxed as a cat on a keyboard."

"That'll be the Cristal," Crowley said with a wink, and Ezra laughed again. He inched his fingers over, nervous, hoping, waiting...and breathed a sigh of relief when Ezra brought a hand back up onto the table, allowing Crowley to stroke his thumb tenderly over the back of it. His skin was soft and warm, lovely and perfect. Crowley lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles, then the smooth inside of his wrist, smiling at the giddy giggle it elicited from Ezra. "You're...so beautiful, angel. I can't believe how lucky I am, to have you here with me."

To his credit, Ezra blushed a hearty red. "Flatterer. Keep saying things like that and I'll be asking that those kisses go a little higher." Seemingly unconsciously, he cupped his free hand over his mouth, thumb resting on his lips.

Crowley tilted his head. "Is that what you want?" 

Ezra opened his mouth to reply, but their starters arrived then, and Crowley might have never existed for all the attention Ezra paid him the moment his plate was set in front of him. That was fine; ideal, even. Crowley sat back, reached for his champagne, and eagerly watched the show. Here was the opening act; that first mouthful, the decider…

Ezra’s eyes fluttered closed as his lips delicately encircled the tines of his fork. A beatific smile spread across his face, a soft and happy moan slipping out easy as a sigh. Out came the fork, and he chewed slowly, methodically, rolling the flavours around his mouth before finally swallowing. Crowley was on the edge of his seat, fingers crossed for approval.

“Mm.” Ezra opened his eyes and smacked his lips. “Oh, it’s  _ wonderful.” _

“Yeah?” Cue internal screaming with joy.

“Oh, yes.” Ezra took another bite laced with a satisfied hum, and Crowley tried to ignore the twitch in his trousers. “It’s soft, and...hmm...somewhat creamy in texture. Not at all what I was expecting. It’s very good.” 

"I'm, ngh. I'm glad you like it." Another bite. Oh, to be that fork; to feel the slide of Ezra's tongue and the catch of teeth...Jesus fuck, he was half-hard now; Crowley shifted forwards in his seat, hoping the tablecloth would conceal the evidence of his arousal.

Ezra frowned. He put down his fork and leaned back slightly. "Do you mind if I ask a rather, ah, pointed question?"

"Fire away, angel," Crowley replied, finally picking up his own cutlery.

"Well, I was wondering how you wish this evening to progress," said Ezra, starting to fidget with his napkin. Bless him, he was cute when he was nervous. "Of course, we've been friends a while now, and affection between us comes quite naturally, wouldn't you say?" Crowley nodded between mouthfuls of duck ballotine and gestured for him to continue. "That aside, I would like to know what your desires are, if you don't mind sharing them with me."

_ Desires, huh?  _ Crowley took a sip of water as he thought about it. This was a date, after all; that had been laid bare between them the moment Crowley had finally unstuck his pathetic tongue from the roof of his mouth to beg an extra crumb of attention from his angel. Of course there'd be expectations, but this wasn't a random hook-up at a club -

(No disrespect to Cazz, of course. She'd blown Crowley's distracted mind that night and been everything he needed. Now they texted each other stupid memes and satirical articles, but that was it. Nerd pals. Who fucked once upon a time.) 

-This was  _ Ezra,  _ vibrant, beautiful angel of London, librarian queen of Soho, love of one AJ Crowley's life. How the fuck were you supposed to approach date expectations with your best friend?

Best to play it safe.

"All I want from tonight," he eventually said, "is for you to feel comfortable. We'll go as fast or slow as you need. I'm easy, angel." 

That was the right thing to say, wasn't it? Was it too vague? Did he sound disinterested? Evidently not, as Ezra smiled at him, fork between his lips, eyes bright and the skin around them crinkling in that way that made Crowley want to press kisses all over his stupid cute face. 

"Well," Ezra mused, "we have all night to find out what speed works for us both," and Crowley almost had a pulmonary embolism from choking on champagne.

* * *

Afterwards, they took a walk through Green Park. The daffodils were out in full bloom, a riot of white and yellow sprawling across the lush, green acres, and Ezra clasped his hands together and smiled to see them waving lazily in the evening breeze. “Oh…” he sighed. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Crowley wasn’t looking at the flowers, but at the angel gazing across the park. The night had tinted his hair a glowing silver, lovely as the moon, deserving of a place in the stars; his was the true beauty. He wondered; did Ezra know the language of flowers? It was hard to believe he wouldn’t know at least some, as well-read as he was. A few loose blooms lay scattered across the grass, pulled up by the wind, perhaps, or excited children. Crowley gathered them, haphazard and crooked as they were, into a bunch, and presented them to Ezra with a shy smile.

“For me?” Ezra held the bunch to his chest, looking utterly dopey with joy.

“I, uh…” Crowley scratched the back of his head and wished he could get away with his sunglasses, but he wouldn’t have been able to see the soft rapture on Ezra’s face. “Symbolism and stuff, yeah? Daffodils, new beginnings and all that. A bunch for good fortune.”

Ezra stroked the delicate petals. “Thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it.”

“They have another meaning, you know.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yes. Several, really, not all of them pleasant, but this one in particular...in the eye of the gifter, a recipient of daffodils can be likened to an angel.” He raised his head, eyes twinkling as he flashed that bastard smile; of  _ course  _ he fucking knew, the clever bugger. Crowley’s cheeks burned, but he couldn’t look away, a tremble in his limbs as Ezra took a step forward. “Your actions...always so sweet, even when your words fail you,” he murmured. He touched Crowley’s heated cheek with his free hand, stroking with his thumb, then leaned up, brushing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Always giving. A yearning to please.”

_ Don’t whine, don’t whine, don’t -  _

He whimpered instead, which wasn’t much better, but if Ezra noticed, he made no comment, just drew back with an indulgent smile and held out his hand. 

“Shall we continue?”

On they went, fingers laced together -  _ oh my fucking god we’re holding hands -  _ wandering without due purpose, if only to squirrel away more soft, tender, fucking heart-bursting moments. Crowley had long ago memorised Ezra’s hands, the soft skin of them, the lines tracing his palms, the warmth like benediction; he’d never deserve a touch so pure, yet here it was, wrapped up in his own bony digits as though it belonged there.  _ It did, it does, please say it does -  _ and yet there still niggled an unease beneath his skin, a worry, that perhaps Ezra belonged, yes, but did he…?

"Anthony. You're overthinking."

"Guh." Ezra stopped then, right under the warm light of a street lamp, and fixed Crowley with a look that ever so gently, kindly, ripped out the bottom of his stomach. He averted his eyes from the scrutiny, still stammering. "Wh-What d'you-"

"My darling." Ezra touched his wind-bitten cheek. The urge to lean into it was overpowering. "I can always tell. You're nervous at the best of times, love, so I can hazard a guess at how much energy is itching under your skin right now." God, he always knew, always had Crowley pinned down to the tiny details at his core. He gave in, eyes fluttering closed and leaning into the hand cupping his cheek, smiled at the feel of a warm thumb rubbing near his temple. "Talk to me," Ezra murmured. "Tell me what's on your mind."

"Mm...s'nothing really. Just...y'know. Nerves, like you said." Crowley opened his eyes again. Ezra looked so beautiful under the light, a holy creature, not quite pious, but pure, almost painfully so. "You're my best friend, angel. And we're on a date, for fuck's sake - this is massive for me, probably for you too, I don't fucking know, and look at me, I’m a fuck-up, I drink too much and I'm hauling so much fucking baggage \- and all I can think about is fucking it all up somehow, and then you'd never talk to me again, or that I'm too _f-fast_ for you, and scare you off, or God forbid -" 

And then the words were sucked right from his blabbering mouth, silenced, as Ezra kissed him. 

_ Oh, fuck.  _

There had been a few first kisses in Crowley's lifetime. Some in the heat of the moment, drunk on fits of passion - or just plain drunk - others soft, meaningful, sickly enough to break your heart. Kisses are kisses, right? Same old, same old - point is, you have enough of them, you know what to expect. But oh, he’d never been happier to be wrong. There'd never been a first kiss like this, and never would be again. He melted into it with moonlight in the air and peaches on his lips, and the moment barely lasted three seconds, but a star might have been born, lived its life, and winked out of existence for all that Crowley paid attention to the passing of time. 

They disconnected, remaining close, their noses brushing together. Ezra smiled up at him, soft and beautiful and clasped in Crowley's arms like an offering to the gods. "Take off your glasses, darling," he whispered, and it was clearly an order, not a request. Crowley fumbled for the blasted lenses and stuck them into the breast pocket of his jacket. Ezra's smile grew wider in thanks. 

"Do you know what I see, when I look at you?" he said. Crowley shook his head, mute, hardly daring to guess. "I see strength, and a drive to do what's right by others." Ezra reached up, pushing a wayward lock of hair behind Crowley's ear. "I see anger in your eyes, and anxiety in your hands, and a longing for a better world, a happier life for all - and deeper than that, I see your own self-hatred, your guilt and your shame. Everything you want for those around you, you would deny yourself, tell yourself you don't deserve it, that you shouldn't want it so."

"But you do, and you should, my darling, because deep down - and I know you know this -  _ you are a good person.  _ I can't change what you've seen, or what you've been through, but if I can lessen your pain even a little, then I would shoulder your baggage with you. I would do it proudly, if it meant I could stand by your side like this."

"I'm slow by nature, as you well know. Over the years, in the scant relations I've had, I've come to learn my pace, and know I can't be rushed; I need time, and patience, and space when I ask for it. Tracy tells me I might be demisexual, and sometimes, when I examine my past, I am inclined to agree, but that's besides the point - Anthony, sweetheart, everything I ever needed, you gave without hesitation, and that's how I know, that when I look at you...I see the man I love, with all my heart and soul."

Time started again, a rush of sound that might have been cars on the road, or stars exploding into supernovae - nope, it was Crowley’s heart bursting with joy, ringing in his ears, rendering him deaf to all else but the angel in his arms. 

“Oh, angel,” he sighed.  _ “Angel.”  _ Their lips met again, sweet and tender, Ezra’s daffodils held carefully between their chests. Ezra’s free hand cupped Crowley’s jaw, gentle thumb stroking the sharp blade of cheekbone as their lips parted as one, deepening the kiss for a brief moment before Crowley pulled away to rest their foreheads together. “I love you,” he whispered, hands trembling on Ezra’s hips. “God, I love you. I love you so fucking much it drives me crazy. You’ve no idea - what this means to me - I can’t tell you how I…”

Ezra pressed a finger to his lips. “I know, darling. I know.”

“Kiss me again?”

And bathed in moonlight, he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a resident at the care home I work at, who had dementia and mental health issues. She kept to herself mostly, and needed little assistance day-to-day. Sometimes she would come out of her room at night screaming that people were trying to kill her. But she was nearly always calm with me. We would hold hands, and hug, and say blessings together. She would tell me I was kind, and beautiful, and gentle, and that she was thankful for me. She would hit herself, hate herself, call herself stupid, pathetic, lose her words in her frustration. But she wasn't stupid. She had been a teacher, and had a brilliant mind, and she knew it was failing her, and with an inability to express herself the way she used to, it was an agony for her to endure. Sadly, she passed away in recent months due to complications from covid-19, and I wasn't working that floor in the week she passed, so I didn't get the chance to see her. 
> 
> Writing parts of this chapter made me think of some of the things I wish I could have said to her, had I seen her before she died. Darling, this is for you - and I miss you terribly. I still look for you on my nightly rounds.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winding down after The Date™, the forces of fanfic smut collide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slaps fic* this bad boy can fit so much procrastination in it  
> How did it take me so long to write this, oh my god  
> Anyway, we're finally earning our rating here, peeps, so sit back and enjoy the show!

“Is it too early for another drink?” Crowley mused aloud as he fumbled with the front door.

Ezra laughed beside him, clearly trying to look disapproving and failing dismally. “Haven’t we just had two bottles of champagne?” 

“Well, yeah, but that’s like, three glasses each. S’nothing in the grand scheme of things - c’mon you stupid key -” The urge to punch the lock was strong, but he settled for wiggling the key around instead, and the lock eventually gave up, permitting them entry. They stepped over the threshold, shedding shoes and outerwear as they went. “Aaanyway,” Crowley sing-songed, after kicking the door closed, “I fancy another. We’re celebrating, angel!”

“And what are we celebrating, exactly?” Ezra asked mildly as he hung up his coat.

“Being able to snog each others’ faces off, of course!”

Ezra’s nose wrinkled. “Of all the words you could have used, you went with “snog”?”

“What would  _ you  _ call it, then?”

He thought a moment. “Well, I...I wouldn’t really call it anything, I guess." His hands came up to frame Crowley’s face. “Perhaps I’d just... _ do.” _

And then they were kissing again, right there in the almost pitch-dark entryway, and it was so  _ good,  _ so fucking  _ right;  _ to hold Ezra in his arms and pull him close and swallow up his gentle breaths, the soft sighs and whimpers he made when their tongues met. There were fingers in his hair and a needy hand clutching the back of his shirt, and - and Crowley wobbled and stumbled over a boot, and they separated with a burst of laughter. “Fuck, fuck, sorry,” he gasped out, righting himself.

“No harm done, darling,” Ezra said, looking prim and for all the world like he hadn’t just had his tongue down a bloke’s throat. He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s cheek and drew back, eyes twinkling. “Go on, then. I’ll have another drink if you are.”

Drinks. Yes. Not staring into those gorgeous fucking eyes the whole night. 

“I don’t suppose there’s such a thing as alcoholic coffee, is there? I quite suddenly find myself craving espresso, of all things.”

Crowley grinned as he slipped off his glasses. “Irish coffee, angel. Now you’re speaking my language.” He set them down by his discarded keys. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll whip us some up.” 

“Alright.” Another kiss, on the lips this time, and Ezra withdrew towards the lounge, humming to himself and probably very much aware of the eyes lingering on his gorgeous arse the whole time. Oh, Crowley was going to get his hands all over it - if Ezra permitted, of course. Doesn’t get much sexier than good old-fashioned consent. 

A few minutes later the french press was on its way to making a perfect brew, and Crowley was dithering over his whiskey collection and trying to keep his brain from flailing all over his skull.  _ I’m on a date with Ezra. It’s going well. We’re fucking kissing, for fuck’s sake. We’re on a date and we’re back at my flat and I - oh fuck where is this going to lead -  _ A bottle of Jameson nearly ended up on the floor in his momentary panic.  _ Take it easy, jackass. Slow. Ezra’s pace. Just - just make the fucking coffee and don’t screw this up. _

He did make a damn good Irish coffee, if he did say so himself, and he floated through to the lounge, a mug in either hand. “Alright, angel. Get your taste buds around…” He stopped in the doorway, staring at Ezra. “...Oh, holy shit.”

Ezra frowned from his perch on the couch. “What?”

He’d taken off his waistcoat and was rolling up his fucking shirtsleeves was “what”, though the cursing mostly had to do with Ezra wearing braces.  _ Braces!  _ And of course they were fucking tartan. They ran over the swell of his belly and dimpled into his shoulders in a way that made Crowley want to run his fingers under them, over them, all fucking over him - and that’s not even taking into account how much he wanted to bite those gorgeous forearms.  _ Great, another kink I didn’t know I had.  _

“You just...look really good, angel. Damn.”

“Stop it,” giggled Ezra. “Is that the coffee? It smells divine. Come over here and sit with me, love.”

_ Love!  _ There went the flailing brain again. Somehow he managed to collapse onto the couch without spilling coffee and cerebrospinal fluid everywhere. Ezra took a mug from him with delicate hands and brought it to his nose, inhaling deeply and smiling. A dab of cream ended up on the tip of his nose and Crowley just about fell apart all over again.

“S-Sorry about the - y’know - I, uh, don’t have the proper tall glasses for this, so -”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Ezra smiled. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy drinking it from this…” he examined the mug, “...Velvet Underground mug. What’s a Velvet Underground?”

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“Ah. Bebop?” 

Crowley resisted the urge to become a momentary dog whistle, hurriedly sipping instead from his own mug. Sweet, punchy caffeine flooded his tongue and he sighed at a drink well made. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Ezra took his own sip, cautiously at first, then diving in for another, smacking his lips in clear approval once he’d swallowed. 

“Mm! Oh, that is delightful. Really warms you down to your toes.”

“Glad you like it.” Crowley tucked his feet up onto the couch and shuffled closer, inching his head towards Ezra’s shoulder. Ever the observant angel, Ezra lifted his free arm, allowing his worshipper to snuggle close and kissing his head once comfortably nestled in. For good measure and some extra comfort, Crowley flicked open the buttons one-handed on his own waistcoat. “So,” he said, between sips of coffee, “you said something earlier, and I don’t know what you meant by it. Semisexual?”

Ezra chuckled.  _ “Demi _ sexual, darling.”

“Sorry - yeah, that. What does it mean, exactly?”

For a moment Ezra looked thoughtful. A frown creased within the lines on his brow, fingers tapping idly on the side of his mug. Shit, had he offended him? Fuck, make this right, you bloody idiot -

“Well, I  _ think  _ I’ve got this correct, but I’m fairly sure it means the person in question - I suppose that would be me - experiences a lack of sexual attraction unless a close bond has been made with a receiving party.”

Crowley’s turn to frown now. “Come again?”

“Oh. I did make that sound a bit complicated, didn’t I?"

“Nah, just gimme a minute to mull it over, I’ll work it out.” Crowley sat up again, took a long, contemplative sip of coffee. “So, you need to get to know someone really well before you start feeling anything sexual?"

"That...sounds about right, yes."

"But it's more than, say, wanting to go really slow with someone."

"Exactly. It's an orientation rather than a choice one makes."

"I think I've got it. Okay." Crowley put his mug on the table, the movement jostling Ezra's arm to slip lower, his hand resting on his lower back now. His fingers began gently circling the exposed skin where Crowley's shirt had ridden up slightly, and he almost groaned at how damn good it felt. "Did I...ever rush you? You'd tell me, if I did?"

Ezra smiled gently. "Let me be clear, love," he said. "It might take me a while to feel intimate desire, but I wanted you in a romantic sense long before that. Never once have you rushed me."

"Yeah?"

"If anything, I might have been pushing  _ you  _ a little, and for that I'm sorry."

"I only...if I ever pushed back, it was only because…"

"I know, darling. I know." A sweet kiss was shared between them before Crowley nuzzled his way back into the crook of Ezra's neck. 

"When did you - y'know - about me?"

"Hm." Ezra stroked Crowley's arm idly. "Do you remember last September, when I went for dinner with my siblings?"

"You came back here pissed as a newt. Course I remember." 

Ezra had the grace to blush. "Well, before everything went south,” he smiled, “Uriel had said to me, "how are things with your boyfriend in the dark glasses?" which I of course brushed off - silly gossip from young girls, and all that - but as the night progressed, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Truth be told, I probably wanted you even before then, and I hadn't realised...and then I showed up at your door, drunk and upset, and you...you took care of me. Without a word of judgement. I think that was when I started to really question what I was feeling."

"You called my eyes pretty that night,” Crowley recalled.

"I did, didn't I? It was the first time I'd ever seen them without your glasses."

"Coloboma, by the way. That's...why they look so weird."

"I know. You never said, but I looked it up." Another tender press of lips against lips, coffee-sweet breath a whisper over Crowley's cheek when Ezra pulled back. “What about you? When did you...was there a point when…?”

“Yep,” Crowley answered without hesitation. “That first time you and Adam came over. You fucking  _ moaned  _ at the salad I made and I was completely gone on you."

Ezra choked on his own tongue. “That was - my dear -” he spluttered, “we’d known each other a month if that!”

“Mmhm. Still jerked off to those noises once you’d gone home.”

“Anthony!”

“See, and there’s that! My name!”

“What about it?”

“Well usually I hate it, but from you it’s...I dunno, it just sounds right, yeah? I’d fall over myself laughing if you called me AJ like everyone else does. I  _ like  _ you using my name. Might, uh. Might love it a bit, actually.” Okay, the booze was kicking in now. Less vulnerable Crowley, please. Ezra had regained his breath, and was smiling at him, though, obviously appreciating their opening up to each other. “Hey, um...can I ask... your previous partners, how did you get on with them?"

Ezra finished his coffee and put the mug aside, motioned for Crowley to cuddle up again, which he did so happily. “There’s little to say, I’m afraid. I have been in exactly two partnerships in my life, and while neither lasted long, I nevertheless appreciate the lessons I took away from them.” His nose had found its way into Crowley’s hair, loosened and mussed out of its earlier elaborate styling, and that gentle touch was so  _ good  _ he near melted into it. "And you?"

"What, it's not all in the papers?" grinned Crowley. 

"You  _ are  _ notoriously private, dear, and I make a point not to pry, you know that."

"I know, just messing with you." Crowley stroked a hand gently over the swell of Ezra's lovely belly, feeling the slow measure of his breaths. "I've not actually...well. Can't say I've ever been in a relationship, to be honest with you. Just flings here and there. Never felt like I wanted to settle down till recently."

"Oh?" There was a slightly smug note in Ezra's voice. "What changed?"

"You're a compliment-fishing bastard, you know that?"

Ezra laughed and kissed him. "Would you be open, then, to a relationship with me?"

"Wasn't that the whole point of this night?"

"Hmm. I'll take that as a yes," murmured Ezra, leaning down again. His mouth tasted of coffee and what remained of his lipgloss, and his body was warm as it leaned into Crowley's and  _ fuck  _ if it didn't feel like sheer heaven to tip back and surrender himself to the touch of an angel. He reached up to comb his fingers through Ezra's hair and was blessed with a soft moan for his efforts. 

It was push and pull, Ezra leaning down, Crowley all but clinging to him as he leaned back, and his legs were everywhere and he was probably making the most embarrassing noises, but couldn't bring himself to give a damn. Not when they were near-horizontal on the couch, not when Ezra's deliciously soft bulk had settled between his thighs and was intent on snogging him into another plane of existence. He slipped his thumbs under the tartan braces, felt the tautness of them against Ezra's shoulders, and sighed, blissful.

Fingers crept between them and began steadily unbuttoning his shirt, cool digits brushing his blazing chest as the fabric parted. Crowley tore away with a gasped, "W-Wait!" and regretted it instantly at the look of guilt Ezra tried to direct away from him. "Wait," he said again, trying a calmer tone, grabbing Ezra just in case he had any stupid ideas about moving away. "It's okay, I just need to - we've both had a lot to drink. Are you...alright with this?"

"I'm certainly a little tipsy," Ezra admitted, "but I assure you, I know what I'm doing."

"I don't want this to be something you regret," Crowley whispered, agonised. "Shouldn't I...I dunno...court you for a bit first, or whatever old-fashioned bollocks tickles your fancy?" 

A slow smile spread across Ezra's face. "Oh, darling. I think you've been courting me almost since we met, don't you?"

"I-I - " Crowley was floundering amidst a sea of emotion. It was true, though, wasn't it? All the meals he'd cooked, the bottles of wine passed back and forth on a night; coffee shops and walks in the park, arm in arm, trading glances and laughter and the occasional kiss to hands, cheeks, foreheads. They'd been doing it -  _ he'd  _ been doing it - without even noticing. Holy fuck.

"So, you see," murmured Ezra, "you needn't worry about rushing me." His touch returned to Crowley's chest, fingers stroking the few open buttons. Crowley shuddered, eyes rolling back briefly, cock raging against his boxers. "I'm where I've wanted to be for a long time. The question is…" Ezra's eyes lifted, their usual blue meeting Crowley in a swirling grey storm of desire, "...where do  _ you  _ want to be?"

_ It's okay. He wants this. Ezra's pace.  _

He swallowed. "I...you. W-Want you. Like this. But, uh…" Cracked a nervous grin. "Maybe not the couch. Gives me a crick in my neck."

Slowly, Ezra drew back. Straightened his shirt where it had come untucked from his trousers. The movement drew Crowley's eyes down and  _ oh, fuck _ . He wasn't the only one fighting a losing battle in his pants. 

"Well, then…" Ezra held out a hand. Crowley took it, let himself be gently pulled upright. "I believe a change of scenery is in order. Shall we go to bed, dearest?"

Holy shitting mother of god. Fucking fuck. Jesus H Christ on a rickety fricking bike.

"Y-Yeah," he croaked.

* * *

Somehow they made it to the bedroom without Crowley passing out from anxiety. Had he left any dirty laundry on the floor? When was the last time he hoovered the carpet? Shit, there might be  _ crumbs  _ in the bed! 

Ezra didn't care about any of it. He simply sat with Crowley at the foot of the bed, and drew him in for a gentle kiss, caressing his face, his hair, whispering words of love and praise against his trembling lips. Crowley clung to it, clung to him, riding his high, Icarus flying too close to the sun. He'd burn, this was it, he'd fuck this up and it would all come melting down -

“I love you,” Ezra whispered. Crowley smiled against his temple, drawn safely back to the ground. He murmured the words in kind, felt the happy hum in Ezra’s chest as he pressed his hands there, memorising the beat of his heart.

“Just to be clear, angel - we’re definitely in the “sexual attraction” part of things for you, right?”

Ezra fixed him with an impossibly fond look. “Honestly, darling.”

“What? I’m just making sure!”

“I know, and it’s very sweet of you.”

“I am  _ not  _ sweet.”

“Hush, you ridiculous thing.” Ezra slipped off his braces and began unbuttoning his own shirt as he spoke. “If I were any more sexually attracted to you, I might explode.” Crowley had no witty response to that, eyes locked as they were on the now-exposed patch of fuzz above Ezra’s vest. “So if we’re  _ quite  _ done beating around the bush…” 

Ezra seemingly lost patience halfway as he simply dragged his shirt off over his head, taking the vest underneath with it, 

“Can we  _ please _ get to the part where we ravish each other silly?”

Okay,  _ now  _ the dog whistle was happening.

Ezra was a work of pure art with his clothes on, but  _ off… _

Oh, he was perfect. A soft, lovely Adonis, covered from shoulders to waist in a thicket of dark blonde hair, growing denser below the navel and disappearing into trousers Crowley had every intention of shucking off as soon as humanly possible. Ezra was strong, he’d always known that, and without the layers of outdated apparel, every ripple of muscle in his arms caught his starving eyes. They followed the lines of Ezra’s body; across his collarbones and down his sternum, taking note of the dusky pink nipples peeking out, and then to the gentle sloping swell of that gorgeous stomach. If he was still whining with need, he no longer cared.

“Jesus, angel. You’re…” Crowley shook his head. “Hang on. Lemme just - I should…” He fought with his own half-undone shirt, tearing it off and throwing it aside. He was a skinny load of nothing underneath, stark ribs and one stupid teenage tattoo on his hip, but Ezra’s eyes went dark and suddenly hungry all the same, and Crowley shivered under the weight of that gaze.   
“Oh, look at you,” Ezra breathed. He gestured, a slight crook of fingers, and Crowley slithered over, helpless but to obey, to wind into Ezra’s lap and wrap around him like it was the home he’d been seeking his whole life. 

Soft lips brushed his neck, barely-there and dizzying. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," Ezra whispered against his pulse. He gave the area a brief suck, swiping with his tongue, and Crowley groaned and bucked against him. 

"I'm not one of your books," he teased.

"No. Books require much work to preserve their beauty, but you, my dear...you will be beautiful until the end of time." 

Crowley buried his face in Ezra's shoulder with an overwhelmed whine. It was too much, to be adored and praised so, but damn if it wasn't the headiest drug he'd been addicted to. 

"What do you want, darling?" Ezra asked. His hands stroked Crowley's bare back, zigzagging fingers down his spine, exploring the lean length of him. 

_ Anything. Everything.  _ Now they were here, his head was awash, exploding with desires and endless fantasies. Wanting for so  _ long,  _ and now he could  _ kiss,  _ and  _ touch,  _ and suddenly he didn't know where to even start. He nuzzled Ezra's neck with another whine, and felt him chuckle lightly.

"Alright, love.”

Ezra turned, gently eased Crowley onto his back on the bed. 

“How about this…?”

Then there were lips and tongue on his nipple, and fingers prising open his belt buckle, and it was all happening at once and yes,  _ yes,  _ this was how it had to be - addled with lust and panic and  _ needing  _ to not fuck everything up to all hell and if Ezra wanted to take the reins to help things along then that was abso _ fucking _ lutely okay with Crowley. He was panting, arching, writhing under the onslaught, not enough, too much, more, more,  _ more - _

“Is this okay?” Ezra raised his head. He didn’t look nervous, exactly, but a flash of  _ something  _ moved across his face, and it was enough to bring Crowley’s breaths back down to something more reasonable. 

He sat up, arms wobbling behind him. “Yeah. It’s good. I’m fine.”

Ezra smiled up at him. “I think I’d like to put my mouth on you, darling. Does that sound agreeable?”

Crowley fell back again, hands over his face as he laughed. “Oh my god. Of fucking course you can. Jesus, angel. That’s the politest way anybody’s ever asked to suck my dick.”

“Well, I didn’t specify exactly  _ where  _ my mouth would go,” shrugged Ezra, “but I can work with that, certainly.” He tapped Crowley’s thigh. “Right. Hips up, trousers off - socks as well, if you will.”

“What if I want to keep my tootsies warm?” Crowley mock-pouted, lifting his hips.

“I  _ have  _ standards.” 

“Obviously not. You’ve seen my feet, and they ain’t pretty.”

“They aren’t supposed to be. They’re  _ feet.” _

“Yeah, well. Some people dig that sort of thing.”

“I don’t. Off.”

“Bossy cow.” Crowley removed the offending items and lay back, clad just in his boxers. The scant fabric did very little to hide just how fucking turned on he was, but hiding was the last thing on his mind. Especially with the way Ezra’s eyes were devouring him like a bloody king’s banquet. 

For a few moments, Ezra sat motionless, just looking at him, watching, taking it all in. Then he smiled, and lowered a hand to his zip. 

"My turn, I think."

There was literally nothing seductive about the clumsy way Ezra wriggled out of his trousers, but Crowley's desire shot straight back up all the same. He'd half expected more tartan underneath, or something ridiculous like outdated bloomers, but Ezra wore black boxers much like Crowley's, only looser-fitting around his thighs. And  _ oh god,  _ his thighs. Thick and dusted with more of that lovely dark blonde hair, and Crowley wanted to be caged between them.

"Right." Ezra returned to the bed. "Where was I?" 

He paused, considering - and swung a leg over Crowley, straddling his hips. The noise that Crowley made at that had no business whatsoever coming from a man in his forties, but there it was, a desperate squeak at those glorious thighs either side of him, Ezra's full and thick arousal pressed up against his own as Ezra leaned down to steal a kiss from his panting mouth. 

Then Ezra rocked his hips, and Crowley clutched at him with a breathless cry. 

"Oh, darling." He did it again. "Do you like that? Is it good?"

"Don't stop," Crowley begged.

Soon they had a rhythm going, a steady push and pull, in and away, grinding and frotting and kissing until they were both gasping for breath. Ezra's moans of pleasure, soft and musical, were the best thing Crowley could have ever been graced with. He dug his fingers harder into the meat of that fucking gorgeous arse, buried his head against Ezra's shoulder, hips jerking up with a frantic mind of their own.

"If you want to -" he gasped, "gonna be - quick, angel, quick -"

Ezra needed no more scattered instruction. He rolled to the side, tugged Crowley's boxers out of the way, and swallowed him down before you could say -

_ "Jesus fucking Christ!"  _ Oh, god in heaven, he was shouting like there was no tomorrow, but he didn’t give a damn, couldn’t. Ezra’s mouth was searing hot and so fucking wet, and he was moaning and tracing patterns with his fingers into Crowley’s thighs and fluttering his tongue against him and there was no way Crowley could last, not as worked up as he was; he came, hard, in a matter of seconds, hands clutching at the sheets and heart hammering fit to crack his sternum. 

Dimly, he realised he’d given Ezra no warning, hadn’t asked if coming in his mouth was okay, but blissed-out as he was, still rolling through the shocks of orgasm, the words stuck in his throat. Ezra didn't seem to mind, judging by the soft hums he made as he sucked, a hand gently stroking the root of him, his balls, his perineum, taking what was his and his alone. He sounded...happy. Like he'd enjoyed a three-course meal. 

Finally he lifted his head, swallowed once more, and wiped his mouth - and what was left of Crowley’s inhibition vanished into the ether. He tackled Ezra, pitching them both sideways on the bed, and plunged his tongue into Ezra’s mouth and a hand past the waistband of his boxers. 

Ezra groaned and thrust his hips into the touch, seeking, chasing Crowley’s desire to see him fall apart. The taste of himself lingered on Ezra’s tongue, the scent of sweat and cologne tinting the air, and when Crowley closed his hand around Ezra’s cock he found him wet at the tip and pulsing with need. 

“Oh, angel,” he murmured, starting to stroke. There was no finesse in the act, no grace or teasing; Crowley was frantic, peppering kisses and bites over Ezra’s neck and shoulder, sucking at his nipples till they were red and puffy, flickering his tongue over them and drinking in the impassioned gasps Ezra made in response. His hand moved faster, more urgently, precome slicking his palm to a smoother glide.

Ezra was bucking against him now, openly moaning. If he’d been a little younger, Crowley thought, as he nipped and suckled on Ezra’s earlobe, he might have gotten hard again just from the sight of it. Still, he rutted into him automatically as he whispered, “are you close?” 

“Y-Yes, I - oh, my love,” Ezra cried, near-shaking in Crowley’s embrace. “Keep - keep going!”

As if he ever planned on stopping. Honestly.

“You’re so beautiful,” Crowley sighed, breath washing over Ezra’s ear. He pressed a kiss into his hairline and held him closer, felt the breath in Ezra’s chest starting to catch, the tension in his hips, his moans reaching a fever pitch. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Come for me. Let me see you...” 

“Yes! Yes! Oh! I’m -  _ ohhh, fuck, I’m comiiiiing!” _

* * *

They lay together, afterwards, nude but for the blankets around them, a knot of limbs and wandering lips and well-fucked happiness. A cool breeze blew through the open window, ruffling the curtains, chilling the drying sweat on their skin, and all was good with the world.

“I’ve been thinking,” Crowley murmured. He was nestled up against Ezra’s side, an arm and leg lovingly thrown over him. Ezra held him close with one arm, his free hand stroking through Crowley’s hair, scratching his scalp in a way that had him nudging his head into Ezra’s palm and purring like a happy kitty. “You know what I really want? More than anything?”

“What’s that, darling?” 

Crowley smiled and tucked his head under Ezra’s jaw. “One of these days...I wanna get out of here. Give city life the finger for good this time. Get a place in the country, a cottage or something that I can work on, do up, make real nice. A big garden where Adam can play. I could grow all the stuff I don’t have the space for here in the flat. Just...a bit of peace, you know? Live a life with my nephew that I can be truly happy with.”

“That sounds delightful.” Ezra kissed the top of Crowley’s head. “A forever idyllic getaway.”

“Maybe…” Crowley glanced up, “maybe you and Warlock’d be there, too?”

“You can’t mean that, surely.”

“I can, and I do.” Crowley sat up, blankets pooling around his waist. Ezra sat up with him, and he reached for Ezra’s hand, taking it in both his own. “I want you with me, Ezra. Before I met you, I was floundering. I was lonely and fucked up and god knows what else, and I’m not much better now, but you’ve stuck with me regardless, you’ve helped me, you’ve loved me...you and Warlock, you’re more a family to me than my own mother, my siblings. I stopped being able to live without you a long time ago.”

“Anthony…” Ezra’s eyes were brimming as he cupped Crowley’s cheek. “To know you imagine a future with me is...oh, it’s overwhelming, but I love it. I love  _ you.  _ I’d follow you anywhere, darling. Just say the words and I’ll be there.”

Crowley kissed him, blinking back his own tears. “I love you too, angel. So fucking much. I know I go too fast, it’s all I’ve ever known how to do, it’s just -”

“It’s okay,” whispered Ezra. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to catch up to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so writer's block has been hitting me super hard the last few months. Turns out when you write an entire outline of a story, then halfway through uploading you decide to change most of said outline, you find yourself with no idea what to do once you're all caught up.  
> But I digress. Have some smut, ya filthy animals.

They lay on their sides, facing each other, exchanging soft, lazy kisses. Hands, unhurried, touched and explored, with no real goal in mind. Learning about the other, basking in their warmth.

Hours had passed since they came to the bed, and yet, neither could sleep. They’d been in a hurry, earlier; caught up in the moment, tipsy, swept away on pure need. Now, though, what was the rush? And if their kisses began to deepen, or Ezra’s thigh slipped between Crowley’s for a subtle grind, well, it was all part of that slow meander, wherever it might take them.

Oh, it was lovely. To be held like this, to adore and be adored. To relax into a tactile tongue, reading every shift and shiver like a tome long since memorised. To laugh freely, when a soft stroke of fingers tickled, to nudge noses together and share more of those sweet kisses.

Eventually, Ezra’s touch moved lower. His fingers, soft and warm, drifted down Crowley’s spine, drawing over each stark bump. Explored the jut of his hip, down his thigh, and back up to settle, a testing weight, at his cleft. Ezra’s eyes, closed for some time, opened now, and met Crowley’s in the darkness. His eyebrows raised up as his fingers pressed gently, a silent question that Crowley instinctively knew the answer to.

He nodded, and Ezra’s next exhale was shaky with flooding lust as their lips met once more. 

“Where…?”

“Top drawer.”

When Ezra’s fingers returned, they brought the velvety-smooth slide of silicone lubricant. Crowley tensed and shuddered at the first gentle touch around his hole, and Ezra paused then, only moving to press slow kisses along Crowley’s jaw. God, it’d been so long since anyone…

Ezra brought their mouths back together, kissing him patiently, as the lube gradually warmed from his body heat, became a comfortable sensation rather than a cold shock. After a moment, Crowley exhaled, muscles loosening as he relaxed. He shifted his left leg over Ezra’s hip, opening up to him. 

Ezra hummed quietly, and his fingers began to rub small circles against Crowley’s sensitive opening. He went slowly, and so tenderly, and kissed Crowley and cradled his cheek with his free hand, and Crowley could have cried for the love and joy he felt in those measured movements. As it was, he wrapped his arms around Ezra and buried his head against his shoulder with a low sigh, hips rocking forward, urging him on. 

The initial push, just the one finger, bore no pain as it slid inside, but Crowley nonetheless stifled a whimper into Ezra’s skin. It was just...so much. Ezra’s fingers were thicker than his own, and he was touching parts of Crowley that he could never manage with his own hands. Shit, Ezra was _inside_ him. The thought alone had his hole clenching around the digit with a wild desire. He relaxed after a few more breaths, tipped his head back up to capture Ezra’s bottom lip between his own and suck lightly, and smiled at Ezra’s responding chuckle.

“Alright, darling?”

“Y-Yeah. Keep going.”

Ezra smiled and kissed him softly, just before Crowley felt him starting to work another finger inside. He relaxed as much as he could, but couldn’t help grimacing at the sudden dragging sensation. Before he could say anything, Ezra was pulling back and reaching for the lube with his free hand, and Crowley loved him so much in that moment, just _knowing_ so well what he needed.

Two fingers now sufficiently slick, they pressed back inside with little resistance, and - oh, _that_ was better. Crowley’s head thrashed on the pillows, eyes rolling back as he let out a low groan. He reached blindly for Ezra, pulling himself close, fairly plastering himself against that fuzzed chest, that plush belly, all the better to rut his aching cock against as he nestled his head in the crook of Ezra’s neck and moaned for all he was worth. "More, angel, fuck."

A third finger pushed in, and Crowley's moans crescendoed into wails as he shook and spasmed in Ezra's embrace - but it wasn't enough. He was so hard it almost hurt, the soft comfort of Ezra's belly no longer giving the relief he needed, and every push of thick digits inside him had him near spiralling. 

With a shaking hand he reached between them, fingers wrapping around Ezra's cock. He felt lovely in his palm, hot and heavy, and when he thumbed the exposed head Ezra shuddered against him and pushed his fingers in ever deeper. Crowley nuzzled behind Ezra's ear and tugged his earlobe with his teeth, before dropping his voice into a husky whisper. 

"Fuck me, angel." 

And with that, he pitched his weight sideways, knocking Ezra onto his back, and straddled him in one smooth motion.

Everything went a bit hazy after that. A condom appeared from somewhere, and more lube, and Crowley couldn't quite place whereabouts in the clouds his head had spun off to, as he bottomed out on Ezra's cock and clenched his fingers in that gorgeous pelt of chest hair. Oh, it was glorious, the slow, aching burn, the incredible fullness, how Ezra _moaned_ and clutched Crowley's thighs with trembling hands as his snaking hips began a steady, sinuous roll. Crowley lost himself in it, head tipped back, surrendering to the hot sparks of pleasure coursing through his body, letting their harsh breaths wash over him, a wave of sensation, of emotion. 

Dimly he knew Ezra was speaking, whispering soft words of love and praise - how beautiful he was, how incredible he felt, how hot and tight inside. He opened his eyes and took in the sight of Ezra against his dark sheets, eyes jewel-bright and cheeks flushed. It was like freefalling from the sky and crash landing back on earth. This man, this wonderful man, was here, with him, loving him, _wanting_ him, and _fuck,_ wasn't that enough to make your head spin? Smiling, he leaned down to claim Ezra's mouth, siphoning the sweet, gentle sighs from his lips, and rocked his hips a little faster. 

"Mm...angel…"

"Oh, that's...yes…"

A hand slipped between their bodies and closed around Crowley's erection, forcing a broken cry from his panting lips. Then Ezra shifted, bringing his feet to lie flat on the mattress, and thrust up, hard.

"Fuck! Angel! Fuck!" Crowley shouted, voice cracking. He was spiralling in ecstasy, arse fairly bouncing up and down in Ezra's lap with the rhythm of their movements, hands braced on his chest for support. Every thrust of those lovely, luscious hips buried Ezra's cock deep and firm, brushing his prostate and sending an unbearable heat coiling low in his belly. He wouldn't last much longer.

"Shit, oh shit, yes, oh my fucking god-!" 

Christ, had he always been this vocal during sex? He needed to come, needed it so much he felt almost feral with it. 

"Oh, fuck, I'm - I'm so fucking _close -"_

"Let go, love." Ezra fucked into him and jerked him off with an almost frantic need in every movement, a wild gleam in his eye. "Come for me," he whispered. "Make a mess of me, won't you? I want it, I want you to." Crowley writhed and cried out, muscles clenching, his angel's own desperate groan echoed back into the stifling air. "Oh! Come for me!"

And, well, who was Crowley to deny his angel anything? The heat in his belly reached boiling point and overflowed as he bit his lip, shuddered, and spilled in warm pulses over Ezra's soft fingers, his beautiful belly. 

Was it the mess Ezra wanted? Would it smear across his skin, catch in all those lovely fuzzy hairs? Had he done as he was bid? Still he kept moving, hips rolling and spasming on autopilot, even as his world tipped around and he found himself splayed out on his back, legs back, bottom in the air with Ezra's hips snapping brutally as he chased his own release, and - and, _oh -_

"Darling, you're so _good,"_ Ezra was panting above him, "so sweet, so lovely -" Crowley was utterly spent, but the praise was like a live wire to his cock, and he moaned in appreciation nonetheless and clung to Ezra for dear life as his angel did his best to pound the very soul out of him. "Oh, I'm - I'm going to come, is it alright? Inside you? Quickly, quickly -!"

The condom was still on, of course, but he still felt it, seconds after gasping out his assent, felt the pulsing warmth blooming inside him when Ezra suddenly stiffened and buried his face under Crowley's jaw, a string of soft, lovely whimpers and shaking breaths muffled into his skin, like a secret only they knew. He turned his head, nudging his nose in Ezra's curls, and held him close as he fell apart in his arms. 

"I've got you, angel."

* * *

It was nice, watching Ezra sleep. 

His face, so expressive when awake, lay relaxed and still against the pillows, a reprieve from the anxiety and emotion always rushing through him. Or some poetic bollocks like that. Smiling, Crowley reached out to stroke a hand down Ezra’s back. He was warm, smelling of soap from their shared shower (and Crowley was too old for romping under the spray, but you'd better believe he still groped Ezra something silly all over, and got a flannel to the face for his trouble. Regrets? Zero), and slightly damp from sweat; he shifted under Crowley’s touch, breath hitching. He settled after a moment, a long sigh leaving him as he nuzzled further into his pillow. 

Crowley’s smile grew wider. Fuck, he loved him so much.

A future together, a cottage away from London...telling Ezra hadn’t ever crossed his mind, not until the moment he’d told him. He could see it, though, if he thought hard enough. Adam and Warlock chasing each other down higgledy-piggledy paths, a weed-filled landscape set aside for their rough and tumble, while Crowley cultivated the rest, built up his own Garden of Eden, apple tree and all. Maybe he’d hammer together a swinging bench, a place for Ezra to sit and read in the sunshine. If a nice sunset allowed for it, Crowley could sit with him, nestle into his plush side, watch the sun light up the clouds in orange and pink on its way to rest. 

He wanted it, wanted it all. A fantasy, for now, yes - but one he fully intended to make a reality. 

Nudging closer, he pressed a kiss to Ezra’s cheek and tucked his head under his chin, eyes slipping closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I hear a "fucking finally?!!!?!!"
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anathema checks out the news over breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just a short chapter from Ana's POV - I really wanted to bring her in here just for a moment. I had brief ideas for her backstory that were better explained from her and not Crowley. Enjoy, hopefully!

The ‘net was ablaze with commotion, it seemed. Anathema scrolled through her phone with the frantic energy of a starving mutt as she hunted blindly in the fridge for the Naturli. 

**_"AJ Crowley spotted kissing male companion!"_ ** one article said.

**_"AJ Crowley - our new bisexual icon??"_ ** from a fansite.

**_"A year in the making - from mundane school runs to passionate snogs in the park, just how did AJ Crowley come to settle for his mystery blonde?"_ ** Oh, that one was the Sun. Fuck right off. 

Anathema finally found the spread and tossed it onto the counter just as her toast popped out. She put the phone down for a moment to finish preparing her breakfast, then leaned on the counter to eat as she scrolled, uncaring of the scattering crumbs.

The last few years had been a whirlwind, to say the least. She had been a student of Crowley's, long ago, before she realised she preferred horoscopes over telescopes, a casual hobby over a career. She'd seen the sadness in Crowley even back then; the dark uncertainty, the swagger and confidence overlying a desperate need to belong - but you wouldn’t say that to your professor, would you? 

Well, not at that moment.

They’d run into each other again in London, with Anathema cleaning down at the bar she’d been working at, and Crowley drinking himself into a stupor in the darkest corner. He’d been thinner, back then, and his hair shorter, so she hadn’t recognised him at first, not till he’d suddenly straightened up, raised his sunglasses, and squinted at her before shouting, “Book girl? Ana? S’that you? Holy shit!”

They’d spent all night talking and reconnecting - then Lucien died, Crowley took Adam in, and the rest, as they say, is history.

“The amount you do for AJ, you should really be his agent, not his babysitter,” Newt had said one time, and she’d smacked his arm and said she was a  _ nanny,  _ not a babysitter, thank you very much, but, Anathema pondered as she wiped her mouth and smudged greasy toast fingers over her phone screen, wasn’t there something to be said for that? Poor man could barely even handle being a marginally functional human being, let alone the press, the superfans, the constant calls for interviews and photoshoots; Anathema kept hold of the “official” number for contacting Crowley, and sequestered the battered old thing in her handbag. Crowley rarely, if ever, picked it up himself. 

Not for the first time, Anathema pondered nagging for a pay rise - or for Crowley to stop eating her fucking pomegranates, at the very least.

Movement from the master bedroom caught her ear, followed by the sound of yawning and the shower juddering to life. Several minutes later a damp and barefooted Newt shuffled in, sans glasses and still half-asleep as he combed back his hair. “Morning, babe,” he mumbled, pecking Anathema’s cheek on the way to the kettle.

“Morning, yourself,” she smiled. 

“I checked on the boys. They’re still asleep.”

“Yeah, they usually get up later when they’ve had a sleepover. We’ll make pancakes later, I think. They’ll like that.”

_ “I’ll  _ like that,” Newt chuckled, reaching for a mug by the sink. “You’re not usually attached to your phone so early in the morning. Did your mum call?” 

Anathema held the phone out wordlessly. Newt made a face as he took it, and wiped the greasy screen on his t-shirt before holding it up close and squinting. “Poor Ezra,” he sighed after a moment of reading, “the press will be all over him now. I’ll have to hide him behind a stack of books at work, or something. No, wait. He does that well enough himself already, doesn’t he? Sorry. Rambling. Haven’t had caffeine yet. Shut me up.” He gave the phone back and set about making his tea. “Will they be okay?”

Anathema shrugged a shoulder as she popped the last bit of toast into her mouth. “Can’t say for certain, but we know Ezra’s tougher than he looks. Wouldn’t be surprised if he brushed it all off with one of those silly smiles of his...”

“To be honest, it’s not really him I’m worried about - it’s AJ.”

“Yeah.” Anathema sighed. “You leave that with me. I’ll try and make sure he doesn’t pass out from anxiety over the next few weeks.”

“When was the last time I told you you should be his agent?”

“You tell me at least once a week.” Newt sidled over, steaming mug in hand, and Anathema nudged up to him, resting her head on his chest. “Gotta look out for our friends, right?”

“Right,” Newt smiled, and put an arm around her waist. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
> This author sees and appreciates all comments but may not reply immediately due to sheer forgetfulness.  
> Note: If, for any reason, you want to leave a comment, but would prefer not to receive a reply, feel free to sign your comment with four tildes - ~~~~ - and I will appreciate massively but not respond!


End file.
